World of Ice
by panyasan
Summary: 2161. Six years after "Terra Prime" and one year after the Romulan war. According to historical records, Commander Charles Tucker the Third died two weeks previously. The records are incorrect.
1. Barefoot

******Disclaimer** :_ Enterprise_ and its characters are property of CBS/Paramount.

* * *

**Part one**

Blue. Everywhere she looked she saw blue. The blue curtain in front of the windows moved softly in the wind, a salty breeze coming from the sea nearby. The walls were painted in cobalt blue, and there was an azure ceiling above her head. Outside, she heard the waves of the sea crashing gently on the shore, creating a soothing sound. The bright sunlight that shone through the curtains in the bedroom indicated that when she would open them, she would see a bright blue sky above the sea.

She moved her legs over the edge of the bed and sat. Reaching for her silk robe on the chair nearby, she wrapped the robe around her body. She was about to move softly away so as not to awake the man who had been sleeping next to her when two strong arms glided around her waist and under her robe, preventing her from leaving.

"Whatcha doing, Mrs. Tucker?" a very amused voice asked her.

T'Pol looked around to see the laughing face of her husband. His hair was disheveled, his blond streaks pointing in several directions.

"We had a Vulcan wedding ceremony, so officially I am not Mrs. Tucker," she rebuked her husband with soft amusement.

"So what am I? Mr. T'Pol?" he gave back.

"You are now part of my clan," she explained, trying to focus on his question and not be distracted by the hands that made soft circles on her belly. It was a most agreeable feeling.

"And I am honored," he brushed his lips softly in her neck, before kissing her. His stubble rubbed against her fair skin. "So why are you dressed? Any plans?"

"We need nutrition, so I wanted to make breakfast," she explained. Her _adun _seemed more interested in planting kisses along her neck. For a moment she only felt his kisses, the pleasurable sensations of the touch of his fingertips on her stomach. She desired more and she did lose focus.

"I'm not hungry," he answered.

He pulled her downward and she found herself on the bed. His smiling face was inches away from hers. She looked in happy blue eyes, with a light of amusement. "But then again," he added and took possession of her mouth. She felt the same hunger as he. He stirred up passion in her, a passion matching his — or maybe even bigger and brighter.

The robe ended up on the ground next to the bed, like her flame red wedding dress had the night before, and they played the game of lovers young or old – I am my beloved's and he is mine. The game of breathing his scent; moving her fingers to feel his cool; smooth skin underneath; enjoying his strength; feeling the softness of his lips and the aggressive passion in his kisses. The bond sparked into life. She craved to become one: mind, _katra_, body.

Then she felt a memory from Trip entering her mind, a mental representation of a mind meld they shared. The remembrance became a longing, a desire that matched hers. As before when she melded with Trip, it felt so natural as she touched his forehead with her index and middle finger.

Their minds met. In that moment, they were one, floating together in a bright space. Memories surfaced and came rushing by. They each saw the real Trip or T'Pol, the naked soul, without pretense or cover up. Lying down skin to skin, she felt his pleasure, enhancing hers, she ravished his touch, was lost in the sensation of pleasure.

A strange thought came into her mind. _Love is stronger than death._Then the waves of an intense feeling of pleasure washed over her. Their rhythm stopped.

"Wow," Trip said, his face above her. He slowly opened his eyes.

"That would be an accurate description," she commented.

He grinned and started to kiss her face with soft, wet kisses and smelled her scent. She wanted to kiss him back, but instead she closed her eyes to feel the sensation of his kisses. She was in his arms. She was warm and alive.

Then she felt a coldness creeping up her spine. The room became dark. She tensed. The coldness expanded to her entire body. "Trip," she said.

His lips had left her body. He stared at her. "T'Pol?"

He moved his head away from her. Confusion and panic written over his face.

"Trip, what is wrong?"

"S'tivh khumae-ute. Hallh'na," he answered. What did he say? He didn't speak Vulcan, but another language she didn't understand.

"S'tivh khumae-ute. Hallh'na," he repeated, louder. The room became darker and darker. Clouds blocked her vision. The sight of Trip became foggy.

"S'tivh khumae-ute. Hallh'na," Trip shouted. To her distress she saw the image of Trip fading away until he was nothing but air and for the first time in years, she screamed.

* * *

**Part two**

T'Pol woke up, her heart ponding, Trip's name still on her lips. She was in her beach house bedroom, now painted in soft green —five years after her wedding day. The dream seemed so real. So vivid. Right in every detail. No sleeping Trip now. She was alone and Trip was gone.

She calmed herself, breathing in and out. She didn't feel well. Reflexively, she put her hand on her mouth in anticipation of the coming nausea. _This is normal, she thought. The normal symptoms of bond mates being separated._

She must examine her situation. Everybody had told her that Trip was dead. She had been to his memorial service, sitting in a row, next to Ambassador Soval. Trip's family and Captain Archer were leading the service.

To most of the world, she was nothing more than Trip's fellow crew member, an ex-girlfriend or maybe a good friend of his. But she had been his wife and the whisper of their bond was still stubbornly in her mind. Somewhere in this universe, Trip was alive. She would find him.

She got up, but dizziness stopped her in her tracks. Combined with yet other feeling of nausea, she decided to lay down again. On the bed, she put her hand on her perfectly flat stomach. If she didn't know better... _Normal symptoms of bond mates being separated_, she repeated to herself.

She looked at her hand on her empty stomach and her mind went back three years ago.

_She was herself, lying on her bed. It was nighttime, she couldn't fall asleep the bed in her Enterprise quarters. Trip was sleeping next to her, his arms around her, but never had she felt so alone, so empty and filled with despair. Before that day, any discomfort had been easy. She had been content as she felt the surprising and gentle presence in her mind and knew a child was growing in her womb. Before the green blood started flowing and she slowly had felt the light of the life inside her diminish._

She pushed the memory and the pain it still caused in the most far place of her mind. Her symptoms faded, she felt better and stood up. Dressed in her blue pajamas and her silvery colored robe, she walked to the kitchen.

From the window, she could see it was going to be a clear day. In her early life she hadn't liked large surfaces of water, but now she could appreciate the beauty of the blue sea.

A ray of light shone through the window of her kitchen, warming her face. She put the water kettle on the stove and when the water boiled, she put G'ran tea powder in the pot. Standing in the tradition of generations before her, T'Pol rotated the powder with a spoon, before it melted in the hot water. _Tal, dah, nala_(1,2,3) she counted. She poured the tea in one of Trip's Gator-cups. They were the right size for her morning tea. She inhaled the damp of the tea. It smelled unusual. _Katau-tor theris ha'kiv_(tea brings life) she thought and meditated for a moment. Her next task was to make plomeek soup. She had done this a thousand times.

She placed the bowl of plomeek soup on the table, next to PADD's that she had placed there yesterday. On top, there was the PADD with the file of yesterday's news. Lately she had become very reluctant to watch the news file. Trip's death, "one of the heroes of the Romulan war", "the engineer-playboy" as the journalists called him, had been headline news for a couple of days.

She even got a request from the Science Department to fill in a form of questions about Trip's scientific engineering work. Apparently a journalist was busy writing a story for the _Science Monitor_about his work. The Science Department wanted her to assist this journalist with information. Because of their request and her good experience with the journalist in question, she had agreed to cooperate. She also wanted the media to focusing on the brilliant and imaginative scientist Trip had been, rather than his exaggerated romantic adventures.

The plomeek had cooled to the correct temperature. She chose to read the PADD with science news and while doing so, she took the first bite. It's tasted horrible. Normally, plomeek from her province was bland – needed lots of pepper and salt as Trip would say – but now it tasted bitter. She had bought the carrots the previous evening and they appeared fresh, but maybe they were too old.

She searched her kitchen cabinets for other foods. It reminded her of the joke Trip made when she had told him that she had bought a beach house from a friend of Dr. Phlox, a fellow Denobulan. Trip asked if she had checked the kitchen cabins for any bats or small animals.

"I have," she confirmed.

"I bet you have," he had grinned.

She missed his silly jokes, the ones that half the time she didn't understand, but always secretly enjoyed. She missed their stimulating conversations and heated fights, the way they could be together in silent understanding — his emotions, his smell, his support, the weight of his body next to her in her bed, his breathing when she tried to sleep late at night.

She suppressed her emotions, focused and found some bread, peanut butter and jelly. Peanuts were nutritious and jam was made of fruits. A good breakfast indeed.

She cleaned up and took shower. She looked briefly in the mirror. To a stranger she would have looked the same as she had five years ago, but she knew the war had left its mark on her face and body. It has been more noticeable with Trip. She had seen his face change in that of a man who seen to many death and destruction.

T'Pol dressed herself in jeans and shirt. Vulcan never wore shoes in the house, but rather slippers. She, however, preferred to walk in her own house on bare feet. She stepped bare footed in her sunny kitchen when she heard her communication device peeping. She pushed the button and the bearded face of a young man with dark blond hair filled the screen. "Hello, Commander T'Pol. I'm Henry Dubois, journalist of the _Science Monitor_."

* * *

**Part three**

T'Pol straightened her body. Normally the Communication Department, in Mr. Dubois' case also the Science Department, would deal with the media. Starfleet had made it a rule that all contact with the press be through them. Journalists hardly ever spoke with Starfleet officers, except maybe one of the captains or admirals. An interview with the only Vulcan member of Starfleet had been considered out of the question. Consequently, she wasn't pleased that somehow this journalist had managed to access to her communication device.

"Mr. Dubois, I already responded the file you sent me. I have answered your questions. Have you not received them?"

"Yes, I have and I really appreciate you've taken the time," he said enthusiastically. "Your answers were very thorough. Only some of them left me with some follow-up questions. My deadline is in a hour and I really want the article to do the late Commander Tucker justice. I was hoping you would be willing to help me." He sounded sincere.

T'Pol calculated that the logical course of action was to answer Dubois's questions. "Please continue."

Dubois smiled. "You mentioned a couple of scientific improvements Tucker made, most of them I already knew from the science reports I collected during the war. I didn't know the idea of cycling the coils of the nacelles was also his. It was brilliant design that saved us a lot of precious energy during the war."

She agreed. "Before all the coils in the nacelles fired at the same time to maintain warp field. Commander Tucker came with the idea of firing a single pair of coils in each nacelle, starting forward and moving aptly to create the warp field. It's much more efficient. Also the lifespan of the coils is expanded and the drag coefficient of the warp field against the fabric of subspace is reduced. It also leads to a substantial increase in velocity."

"All great benefits. I understood from my research you and Commander Tucker worked together on many new designs. My guess is, this is one of them?"

"Yes, he came to me with the idea and we discussed it in detail. I calculated the the most efficient coil firing frequencies and energy input formulas."

She remembered her and Trip's discussion on this subject well, the hours they spent sharing ideas and knowledge. Before she knew it, the Captain had come by Trip's office, telling them they had been working all night. He may have tossed an all-nighter in her lap, as Trip would say, but the truth was she hadn't minded at all. That night she discovered how stimulating it was to talk to Trip. His ideas were a combination of skilled knowledge, bright intelligence and colorful imagination.

Dubois brought her back to the present. "I find it surprising that a man who has done such a great deal for the development of space ships is hardly recognized as such. I mean, I am just a journalist, but it looks to me like the man was a genius," he remarked.

"Commander Tucker was one of the most talented people I ever met," she concurred, "In his work he combined intelligence and imagination with surprising results. He had been reckless at times, emotional as well, but curiously those traits helped him more often than hindered him in his work."

"That's high praise from a Vulcan", Dubois replied.

"It is my opinion," she simply answered.

"I spoke with Lieutenant Rao, who worked on _Enterprise_many years, and he praised the Commander not only for his scientific insights, but also because he was seen as a real people-person. He seemed to have a great talent to get along with all kinds of people and species, I wonder if you agree."

T'Pol realized that the conversation had gone from science to her opinion on Trip. She was also surprised Dubois had spoken with Lieutenant Rao, who had served under her leadership in the Science Department.

She needed to end this quickly. "Commander Tucker ran a tight ship in his Department but always tried to connect with the people he worked with. He had a keen eye for the potential of his co-workers because he had an interest in people around him," she answered.

She remembered that Trip had been worried during the war that he had lost this ability."_I am so stuck in this war and protecting myself from hurt, that I am blind to what is going on in the lives of people that served with me,_" he had once confided in her.

"Did he see your potential?" Dubois asked. He couldn't hide the smugness in his voice.

She ignored his question. The mentioning of Lieutenant Roa had given her an idea. "In my first year on _Enterprise_it came to my attention that my interaction with my Science crew was not always successful. I was following Starfleet guidelines, but my job ratings were seen as criticism and not as an statement of a job well done. I also seemed to miss certain developments in the crew lives. Commander Tucker encourage me to maintain my own management style, but also to utilize the talents of two members of the Science team to monitor the personal development of my team. It helped me to shape a close knit group that worked very efficiently during the years."

She thought Dubois would appreciate this story and his smile indicated he did. "Seeing the potential, I see."

He changed abruptly to another subject. "I get a better picture of Commander Tucker by talking to you and other people he knew than from that whole speech Captain Archer gave at the funeral. I never heard such an impersonal commemoration in my life."

She was confused. Was he stating this to get a response out of her?

The truth was she had hardly heard a word of the Captain's speech during the funeral. She had listened to every word her husband's father, so like him but older, spoke. But when the Captain had taken the stage, her _katra_had become overwhelmed with anger. A fury that the Captain was alive and that Trip had given his life in such a foolish way, to save Archer.

Trip had survived five years of war with the Romulans, in which every day could be his last. They had planned to start a family after the war and were working to achieve this. And Trip had thrown it all away to chase away two lightly armed villains? By blowing himself up? Couldn't he have thought of another way, like he had done so many times during the war? Why hadn't he waited for security?

In the midst of her thoughts, she was able to reply to Dubois. "I have heard that giving a speech during such an emotional time for humans is difficult."

Dubois nodded. "I saw your face during the service. You miss him, don't you?"

She blinked for a second. Had her control been so shattered that a perfect stranger could have read her inner turmoil? Or was this another way of getting her to say something that would give Mister Dubois's readers an interesting story?

"Commander Tucker is missed by most of the people who knew him," she replied as neutral as possible.

_"You would think so,"_he replied. He looked down, apparently to a clock, because he continued "I have a deadline, so I have to end this conversation. Thank you, Commander T'Pol, for your time. I think you have answered all of my questions."

"You are welcome," she said automatically, using a phrase she had heard Trip say many times, ending this the disquieting interview.

The screen went blank. She nevertheless stared its blackness. It had been a most peculiar conversation. She now fully understood why Starfleet didn't want officers to talk to the press. They were more devious than Vulcan diplomats. She continued her work, but couldn't help that one thing Dubois had said, kept repeating in her mind. "You would think so." She knew he was talking about the Captain's behavior. It was off that day. He wasn't grieving. Doctor Phlox was acting strange as well.

She took her PADD and made a thorough analysis of the days before Trip's death. Every event. Every word documented, looking for that one thing that didn't make sense. One thing that was different from other days. She realized she missed something. She should talk in private with several key players, starting with Doctor Phlox. She knew if she put some pressure on doctor Phlox, he might eventually give her information. Then it hit her she also needed to see another person. This person would tell, because she would give him back what he had lost: his pride.

She turned on her communication device and contacted Ambassador Soval. Her request for him was simple. "I need to get in contact with an Andorian. He is a Commander of the Andorian Imperial Guard. His name is Shran."

* * *

**Part four**

Blue. Everywhere he looked he saw blue. The main color of the bedroom and the ceiling above his head. He had woken up, feeling cold and alone. Trip realized the warm, soft body that had been lying next to him was gone. He craned his head to see T'Pol sitting on the side of the bed, dressing herself in a robe. He moved to her, sliding her arms around her waist, under her robe.

"Whatcha doing, Mrs. Tucker?"

"We had a Vulcan wedding ceremony, so officially I am not Mrs. Tucker," she refuted with a smile in her voice.

"So what am I? Mr. T'Pol?" he teased her, making circles on her belly. Even without the bond, he would have known by the way her nostrils widened and her body relaxed, that she enjoyed his movements. He still had it, after all this time.

"You are now part of my clan," she answered.

"And I am honored." She had a lovely neck and he was dying to kiss it. So he did while he asked her "So why are you dressed? Any plans?"

"We need nutrition, so I wanted to make breakfast," she murmured. He kept kissing her, while caressing her with soft strokes. He could tell when she lost focus.

"I'm not hungry," he teased her, pushing her downward on the bed. "But then again," he said, looking in her lovely face. He kissed her, first softly, then hungrily. He felt the passion rising between them, her hands caressing his body slowly, her kisses on his lips. Her brown eyes gleamed like stars in the night sky. Her look of affection created in him wild desire to love her in every way possible.

Her robe was getting in the way, so he loosened the tie and tossed the robe to the ground. He inhaled her scent; his fingers roamed over her body and she responded. The bond enhanced the pleasure they were sharing, and he wanted more and more of her — and she wanted more of him.

He remembered their shared mind meld and wanted to experience it again. He longed to fuse the the streams of love, joy, care and passion with physical pleasure, the touch of her warm, soft body beneath his fingers.

He felt T'Pol move her hand to his forehead and touch his temples with two fingers. Their eyes locked.

"Yes," he said through the bond.

She then opened her mind and _katra_for him and he for her and he was immersed again. He could feel her mind, her memories flooding his mind. He was basking in the sunlight of her secret emotions. He could taste the sweetness of their love like peaches on his tongue, her passion like a fire warming him. T'Pol's protection and care for him embraced him, making him feel treasured against all dangers, protected in love. There was only him and her.

She opened herself for him. A burst of emotions ran through him. He was alive; he was strong. He was male. He was proud. He was swimming in a ocean called T'Pol, one in body and mind. The waves of pleasure and emotions rolled over him, stronger every time. He felt the blood run from his head and euphoria filled his veins with the best feeling ever.

"Wow," he said, grasping for breath.

"That would be an accurate description," she responded.

Amused, he looked at T'Pol's face beneath him, laying down on a pillow. Her brown hair was disheveled, her eyes glistering and her face seemed to glow. He lowered his head. He gently kissed her forehead and face, breathing deeply in her familiar copper-spicy sent. T'Pol closed her eyes. He felt a cold shiver going along his spine. It suddenly became darker in the room.

"Trip." T'Pol's voice sounded like a echo from the past. Her image was fading.

"T'Pol?" _"What happens?"_he thought, confused.

"Trip, what is wrong?" Her voice withered away. Then a loud, metallic voice spoke "S'tivh khumae-ute. Hallh'na." The voice repeated his message, demanding an answer. "S'tivh khumae-ute. Hallh'na." And again: "S'tivh khumae-ute. Hallh'na.". He stared into whiteness . T'Pol was gone.

A hand on his shoulder. "Rokel, wake up. Give answer."

Trip woke up. He stared in a gentle face of an elderly Vulcan. His deformed right ear made him realize where he was. "Give answer," the Vulcan told him once more.

Trip stood up from his bed and went straight to a glass-like plate, with in the middle the contour of a hand. He placed his right hand firmly on the outline. The device confirmed his identity. "Time: Worker Rokel has reported for duty."

Just in time. A new day at the Romulan mining facility on the Farel moon of the Dosa system had begun.


	2. Trapped

**Time-line**: In the midst of the Romulan war. The last parts take place one year after the Romulan war.

**Author's notes:** Song by Lyle Lovett – _Will Rise Up / Ain't No More Cane_. Malcolm Reed mentions in this chapter an investigation that ended in disaster. It's a reference to my story _The Captives._ Thanks to Transwarp, Honeybee, Paulinem, Crystalwolf, JiNX-01 and EntAllat for shaping and beta-ing this chapter.

**Disclaimer** :_ Enterprise_ and its characters are property of CBS/Paramount.

Thank you reviewers for your kind comments and don't worry Trip-fans, more Trip to come in the next chapters.

* * *

**Part One**

Red. She tasted the red soil of this planet as she lay there on the ground, unable to move, her body covered by a pile of rocks. Next to her she saw Johnson's motionless body, blood seeping slowly from a head wound. She heard the sounds of footsteps all around her. The Romulans were inspecting the bodies of her team, all of whom had fallen after they had been ambushed. In a matter of minutes, they would discover she was still alive and kill her. As they came closer, she heard Johnson mutter something unintelligible. There was a phaser blast, then silence. She would be next, so she prepared herself for the last moments of life.

The blast didn't come. The voices and noises became softer, then dwindled away to silence. The next thing she noticed was a sharp smell in her nose, a liquid burning her face, and her throat filled with a suffocating, burning sensation. Her eyes stung beneath her closed eyelids. What had they done? As she lay on the ground, the symptoms slowly disappeared. There was only the unrelenting heat of the sun on her face. Her throat felt dry. She licked her lips in a desperate attempt to quench her thirst.

Hours went by. Her face felt battered by the heat. Her lips cracked. Small spots of her face, probably the results of the liquid the Romulans had used, prickled and itched. Her body was burning and her legs, buried under the rocks, were on fire. There was nothing she could do to lessen the pain. A vague, strange smell entered her nostrils. Her stomach was empty, and she felt nauseous.

Time passed and the sunlight slowly dimmed and disappeared. Cold came with the darkness and a soft rain began to fall. She tried to drink the rain to dampen her overwhelming thirst, but it began to come down harder, until it poured from the sky, soaking every part of her not covered by the rocks. She shivered from the cold, despite the burning in her legs.

_The burning turned into flames. Red tongues of fire surrounded her. Lightning flashed through the grim, dark sky. She started to sweat, and she wanted to scream._

"_Take my hand," a voice said._

_She turned around. She was standing on a beach. A soft breeze was blowing and she could feel__grains of sand beneath her feet. The taste of the sea filled her mouth and she saw blue waves gently rolling ashore._

_This was her home. The late evening sunlight colored the sky in beautiful shades of red and orange. An old man sat cross-legged in the sand, holding a guitar. A girl dressed in a cut off jeans and a__colorful t-shirt, her brown hair in a ponytail, sat before him. The young girl listened intently when he began to play and sing in a baritone voice:_

"_In the darkest hour, in the dead night,_

_As the storm clouds gather, and the lightning strikes,_

_And the thunder rolls, and the cold rain blows,_

_The future it holds, what God only knows._

_And I will rise up, and I will rise up,_

_Though I be a dead man, I said yes and amen._

_And I will stand tall, and I will stand tall,_

_Until I meet my end, until I meet my end"_

_He was the one person she had always trusted and whose advice still guided her. "Grandpa!" she called._

_He looked up. His face was like she remembered: short, gray hair above a sunburned face with brown hazel eyes. He smiled that smile that she loved when she was a child; the one that made her feel loved and accepted. She walked towards him, but a bright beam of light crashed into the sea, the beach, her grandfather and it all vanished in a flash of white._

She woke up with a shock_,_chilled to the bone. The rain had stopped, but the burning in her legs had increased and the smell had become worse. She tried to ignore the cramps in her stomach; a human could live several days without food.

Slowly it grew lighter. Mild sunlight caressed her face, but within hours the sun would be become stronger. She tried to sleep again, when the heavy silence was broken. A crack. Footsteps. Voices. Romulans. They must have returned.

She suppressed her fear and prepared herself to face death.

"The area is clear, sir."

Shocked, she realized the people approaching were Humans. She was saved. She wanted to call out, but a shrinking sound was all that escaped from her lips. It was enough. Suddenly a friendly female face was above her and hands were checking her vital signs. The woman called to her teammates, telling them someone was alive.

"Lay still," the woman said, "I am field nurse Cutler of _Enterprise_. We are here to rescue you. Can you tell me your name?"

Her lips seemed glued together, her throat hoarse, but she was able to utter "Corporal Cole. MACO-team…" Another face appeared, more familiar. The man had black hair and eyes of a peculiar gray color.

"Corporal Cole? It's Lieutenant Reed. We're going to remove these rocks and transport you to sickbay." He gave her a short smile that never reached his eyes. "You're a strong person. You're going to make it."

She felt the heavy weight of the rocks taken away from her, one by one. The nurse sat next to her, reassuring her. "Everything is going to be alright, Corporal."

But when the rocks were removed, that horrible, putrid smell filled the air. She heard the shocked mutter of Reed, saw the surprised movements of the field nurse and she knew nothing would be all right again.

* * *

**Part two**

Amanda Cole opened her eyes. It took her a second to get reoriented. She was no longer on the planet. The unmistakable smells of sickbay made that clear. The burning pain in her legs had disappeared, replaced by a stinging, tingling sensation. She moved her body upright. Amanda stared at the blanket, how it was draped over her legs. She saw at once that her legs were… different.

"Doctor," she called out. Doctor Phlox's kindly ridged face appeared in her field of view.

"You're awake," he concluded.

"What happened? What have you done with me?" she asked.

"After you were transported, you lost consciousness. You suffered from burn wounds, mostly on your face. I did some constructive surgery and they will only leave some very small scars. I also used a spray to treat your eyes and you will have to continue to use it until they are completely healed."

Phlox paused and continued, "We also had to deal with another injury."

Fear crept into her throat. "What's wrong with my legs?" she wanted to know.

"Corporal, I am afraid I have some bad news," Phlox started. "Your right leg was infected by a virus."

Her world froze. She wanted to move, but her body felt like she was trapped in quick sand. The image of Phlox with that pained look on his face burned into her brain as an everlasting memory.

"What virus?" she asked, dread coloring her voice.

"Like nothing I've seen before," Phlox explained. "We had to take drastic measures to prevent it from spreading. Otherwise you would have died."

His voice seemed to come from great distance, yet he was standing only two inches away from her.

_Drastic measures?_ Amanda moved her hand down her right leg. It seemed to take her forever. She felt her upper leg first, then the knee and then... nothing. Just a void and a tingling sensation.

"I was able to save your left leg, but just barely," Phlox explained. "We couldn't save your right leg below the knee. I am sorry."

Her blood rushed to her head. The realization of what had happened came with a blow, inciting an anger she had never felt before. She wanted to scream that Phlox was lying. She wanted to hit him. "You cut off my leg? Two thousand years of medicine, and all you can do is to cut my leg off?" she yelled.

Abruptly, she stopped and stared at Phlox. This was not happening to her. She would wake up any moment and realize this was all a stupid nightmare.

* * *

**Part three**

Time passed, but the dark nightmare didn't go away. She lay in sickbay, boiling inside with fury. She'd lost her leg. No more walking. No more being a MACO. She was an invalid.

It all seemed so unreal. From time to time she touched her right leg to convince herself it was true, that her leg had been amputated. But when she felt the stump and visitors expressed their sympathy, Amanda felt like she was watching a play in which her visitors were the actors, and the curtain would fall at any minute.

Not that they weren't interesting actors. First there was Archer. His visit to sickbay was short, pain obvious on his face. He looked like he was suffering from a migraine. He continued to make routine visits, inquiring about her health, but his eyes stared past her. His mind was on the war.

Tucker and T'Pol made an interesting scene. Tucker looked older then the last time they'd met, with lines around his mouth and eyes. He was in full Commander mode, asking her questions that she answered in clipped sentences. T'Pol hardly spoke. Amanda watched them as they walked away, inches from each other, their shoulders almost touching. She saw Trip exchanging a reassuring smile with T'Pol. Her body relaxed at once. For a couple that was reported to have broken up, they seemed very much together.

Her true moment of reality came when a short, bald man with piercing blue eyes walked into sickbay. It was Major Carroll, the MACO Intel officer who had worked closely with her team leader, DeVries. She knew if anyone would find the truth about what happened to her team, it was Carroll.

He talked briefly with Phlox, before he briskly walked toward her bio bed. His eyes wandered off to her legs for a brief second. "I was sorry to hear of your injury."

She shifted her body upright. Carroll always had kept his distance and the interactions between always had been swift and precise. However, this time she noticed some warmth in his voice. "Thank you, sir," she replied.

"Doctor Phlox has informed me you are fit to be debriefed. Someone will be by for you in half an hour."

"I'll be ready, sir."

She asked the nurse for her uniform. After five minutes the nurse returned with a MACO uniform, washed her and helped her to get dressed. Right on time, one of the ship's armory ensigns collected her, placed her in a wheelchair and wheeled her to the debriefing room. She hated every step the ensign took and every second she was pushed in a wheelchair. She didn't want to depend on any one.

Two MACO's were present; Major Carroll from Intel, and Lieutenant Preston, Commander of _Enterprise's_ MACO detachment. He was a broad-shouldered man in his fifties. Amanda had only met him a few times. Lieutenant Reed and Commander T'Pol were also there.

First she was asked to summarize the mission of her MACO team. "The team was sent to a small place called Yuk'tane in the Tahari desert on the planet Velen," she explained. While she spoke, vivid images of the red planet on which ground she had spent so many hours came to her mind. "The planet is strategically situated and has been supportive of the Coalition. Several attacks have been made on government buildings and military facilities by a group called the Haren, led by a man named Fetor. We had intel that his latest hiding place was in Yuk'tane. Our orders were to infiltrate Yuk'tane, locate Fetor, and retrieve him."

"According to intel, this rebel group has taken the Romulan side," Preston added.

"Yes, the government of Velen believes that the Haren is a pro-Romulan group. Their main objective is to overthrow the government," she confirmed.

Then they asked what happened after landing on the planet. In great detail she told them about their arrival, about locating and making their way to the camp without incident or evidence of being detected. They had moved to the target with great ease and overpowered the small rebel group without much of a fight. Everyone was captured, including Fetor.

"So it looked like a success," Carroll concluded.

"Yes, that should have warned us. It was too easy. We moved back to our shuttle, always observing the surroundings. As we were working our way up a rocky ridge, we took hostile fire. There were rommies positioned on the crest."

In her dreams, she had relived the moment of the first shot and that first look at the alien soldiers with masks covering their faces.

"We looked for cover and we fired back, but the Romulans were too many. My guess is that they were at least six to eight men, maybe more. They were shooting from above in prepared positions. We didn't stand a chance."

"How do you know they were Romulans? We've never seen them," Reed asked.

She turned to him. Reed was his calm, professional self. For some reason she was glad to see him.

"We've never seen them, but the instant I saw them, I knew they were Romulans. They were broad shouldered, tall men. They moved with perfect precision. They covered their faces with masks. They were helping a pro-Romulan group. Later on I heard them talking, muffled, speaking with a communication device in their headgear, like they didn't want anyone to see or hear them. Who else could they be?"

She went silent for a moment, reliving the fight and how it ended. "During the fight, some boulders on the hillside came loose. I was trapped beneath the rocks. I think the Romulans thought I was dead, or dying. They must have sprayed a liquid everywhere they had been. I felt it on my face. Doctor Phlox told me it was a kind of cleaning product, probably meant to eliminate every trace of them. It fits the profile of the Romulans."

"Can you describe them in more detail?" Commander T'Pol spoke. "Any detail would be beneficial."

"I can do better," she said. "If you give me a PADD, I can draw them."

So she drew her first of many drawings, illustrating and explaining how the soldiers were situated, what they looked like, and how they were deployed. They asked her questions about the exact time she'd seen the Romulans, how long the fighting took and how the unit operated.

"What happened to the rebels? How did they react?" T'Pol asked.

"It looked like they had been expecting it. The only surprise was when the Romulans started to shoot them too. I saw two rebels killed by the Romulans."

"We found five bodies that belonged to the rebel group. Fetor wasn't among them," Reed informed her.

"That's the whole group," Cole answered. "There were five rebels and Fetor. So, he escaped. Or the Romulans took him."

They pressed Amanda for more details. They inquired about the Romulan's weapons and equipment, and she made more drawings. She felt sick and exhausted. The stylus in her hand trembled slightly.

It didn't go unnoticed by Reed. "I know we still want to discuss the team performance, what went right and wrong and what should be done to prevent such event again, but I feel the Corporal Cole should rest. She just is recovered from surgery."

"I agree," Major Carroll said. "Get some rest, Corporal. We will continue this in three hours."

Amanda went to sickbay and crawled back into bed, only to return in three hours. When the debriefings were finally over, she was so tired that she fell asleep without the usual sedative.

* * *

**Part four**

The day after the debriefings, she woke feeling refreshed. She made no attempt to move. It was nice to not have to do anything, just to lie there and listen to the noises of sickbay. She breathed in. Her lungs filled with air. She laid her hand on her chest, feeling the slow drumming of her heart. She was alive. Crippled, but alive. She thought of her teammates, in the room next door. She tried to sit up in her bed and called Phlox. He was close by, talking to Lieutenant Reed. At her call, he stepped over to her bio-bed.

"I assume my teammates are in the morgue," she said simply. "I'd like to see them and pay my respects."

Phlox nodded. His voice was warm when he replied, "I see. One of the nurses could bring you."

Malcolm Reed had overheard the conversation. "I could bring you," he suggested.

It wasn't like Lieutenant Reed to step in like that, but she was glad for his offer.

Malcolm pushed her wheelchair to the room where the bodies were stored. It was cold. In silence Reed opened the door to one of the chambers and pulled out the shelf on which a body lay. He lifted a blanket back. Amanda saw the face of Johnson. His eyes were closed. He looked so cold. She could still see the marks of his head wound. "Lieutenant Johnson," she said, her voice raspy. Reed continued the procedure: opening a door, letting the shelf slide out and pulling back the blanket. One by one she viewed and named them: Karlson, Giovanni, Jones and team leader DeVries. One by one she forced herself to confront the reality of their deaths.

When the final team member was placed in the chambers again, Reed turned to her. "Are you all right?"

She nodded, but Reed was not convinced. He gazed at her. "You should get some rest."

He started to push the wheelchair to the door, but she put her hand on the wheel. She took a breath. "I never thanked you for saving me," she said. "I would be dead if you hadn't come."

"I only did my job. When your team failed to report back on time, we knew something was wrong," he told her. With more feeling he added "I only wish we could have been there sooner. We might have saved more."

"Don't fool yourself, Lieutenant," Amanda replied. "They were dead in minutes. No one would have saved them. "

Reed nodded. "At least we could have saved your leg."

"I am still alive," she said, repeating that one line that had kept her going these days.

Reed gave her an earnest look. "You lost a body part, a part of you. It's only natural to grieve when you lose a part of you."

He sounded so sad. However, Amanda kept her face straight. Her emotions were none of his business. Deep inside she did appreciate his remark, knowing the man rarely spoke about personal things.

Reed abruptly changed the subject and guided her back to sickbay. She stayed for a couple more days of debriefing, before being sent to Earth for physical therapy. Reeds words had played through her mind. She didn't want to grieve. She wanted to get well, she didn't have time to mourn her loss. But she realized she had to one day.

On her last day, Lieutenant Reed came by sickbay. He saw her sitting in the wheelchair, ready to leave.

"Corporal, I heard you were leaving," he said. He shook her hand. "Get back safe to Earth. Good luck with the PT. It's tough, I've heard."

"Weren't you the one you said I was strong person and that I was going to make it?" she remembered his words, and clung to them.

The corners of Reed's mouth curled slightly. He looked at her and it was like they both saw each other for the first time. "I am not taking that back. You're strong. You will get stronger."

She thanked him and said her goodbye. But his words stayed with her on her travel back to Earth.

* * *

**Part five**

Red. Every time Malcolm Reed thought about Amanda Cole, lying down in sickbay, he saw in his mind the clouds of red dust of the planet, the dead bodies lying around and Amanda Cole trapped under a pile of rocks. It was hard to forget the horrid smell that filled the air when they removed the rocks and the horror he felt. After all the misery he had seen in this war he had thought the scene wouldn't made such an impact. But it had. He even talked about with Trip, who told him that he would visit Cole, because _Enterprise_ rescued her and she had been through a lot. "We aren't exactly friends any more. We haven't talked in years," he explained.

"Really," he had responded.

"Let just say, she noticed my mind was somewhere else," Trip said.

"On somewhere or with someone else?" he couldn't resist saying, which caused his friend to roll his eyes and change the subject of their conversation.

In a way he was kind of relieved that Trip had revealed how his relationship with Cole had ended. He had to admit he had become somewhat intrigued by her. Of course, she wasn't, so he concentrated on his work like he always had been.

To his surprise he received a message from her, a month after she had gone back to Earth for her revalidation.

_I have been in contact with doctor Phlox concerning some medical documents,"_she wrote_, "and he told me you had been asking about my condition. What better way than to tell you myself."_

She wrote shortly about her whereabouts and her revalidation. He wrote her back, not expecting another message. But within a week she wrote back, a short letter with all kind of news about Earth and Starfleet that would interest him and a little bit about her life.

With the fourth letter they exchanged, she told in her rehabilitation center everybody had to choose a goal to focus on. Amanda's goal was clear: to go back to the MACO's and fight in the war. _"I would love to hear what's happening in the war right now. It will give me a purpose to get back on my feet. No stories about top secret mission, but some that will give me an idea what is going on."_

In the next letter he tried to do. "_We are working on the new program to detect enemies ships. That has been our main problem."_ In an attempt to joke he added in writing _"You never guess what our next main problem is. Nothing to do with engineering or security, but the food has been horrible these past days. Chef needs some new supplies soon."_

In the months to come they kept on writing. She soon suggested he would call her Amanda, but he never got around to ask her to call him Malcolm. Amanda didn't seem to mind, she started to call him Reed in the letters. In the beginning she mostly wrote about her revalidation and her time to get adjust to her artificial leg.

"_Yeah, Reed, yesterday I became officially robot-woman. The new leg has arrived. I hate it. It itches when I put it on. I am dead tired just walking with it. And it's butt ugly. Must say my real leg was much prettier. Looking back I had great legs."_

As the war continued and became bloodier and gruesome by the day, he had a hard time finding time to write. But he did, because the letters had become important to him. He liked to write her, especially now when his friends on Enterprise had so much on their mind. _"We were heading to the planet Verticon where a colony of Earth had been attacked. We patrolled the area, but the Romulans were gone. We were going to another location, when we were attacked by two Birds of Prey. We survived, but only barely."_

In her next letter Amanda expressed her happiness that _Enterprise_ survived and told him she finished her revalidation. She started working as firearms instructor at the MACO's. She wrote more about her life in San Francisco and about her work as he did about his life on _Enterprise._

In the last year of the war, more battles and planet side fighting were taking their toll on every one in Starfleet. There wasn't a day without a person to be mourned. _"This week we lost about 35 persons in one night. I noticed I feel so numb I hardly grieve about them. The mood is grim. Starfleet is getting desperate. We need a success soon,"_he wrote.

Amanda answered in her most personal letter so far. _"Deep in my heart I know Earth in going to win this conflict. We are going to succeed. And when we do, Reed, you will find space to grieve. Because, like you told me years ago, we all need to grieve what we have lost."_

A massive bloody battle that took almost a week marked the ending of the war. When the end came, he was relieved. He was alive. His friends had survived and were safe. When he returned to serve on _Enterprise,_ his letters to Amanda and her to him became less.

Yet, when the day come that he lost his best friend in a stupid accident, the only person he could think of to write was Amanda.

"_Amanda, I wanted to write you this news in person. I don't want you to find out another way. My hands are still__shaking.__I can't believe it. Trip Tucker, my best friend, just died."_

* * *

**Part six**

Red. The first thing Malcolm noticed when he walked into the hall of his apartment was the red envelop on his doormat.

He was dressed in a sweat suit, ready for a jog. He had developed the habit of jogging every day after breakfast when he stayed for a short leave in his San Francisco apartment.

For the past two weeks, the jogging had not only helped him keep in shape, but to order his thoughts.

Two weeks ago he had written the letter to Amanda that Trip Tucker, his best friend for almost ten years, had died in an accident. It all went so quickly afterwards. Within days he attended Trip's funeral. To his surprise Amanda had been there. After all the letters they had exchanged, she had become somewhat like a friend and he didn't have many.

During the funeral he realized for the first time that strange feeling he was having ever since Trip died, was suspicion. Something was amiss with Trip's death. Something was terribly wrong. Why hadn't Trip called security when he met those aliens? Why hadn't he thought of a diversion or another way out, rather than blowing himself up? He was the one who liked blowing things up, not Trip.

Before he knew it, Malcolm had started discreetly asking questions. But everyone he asked seemed to close ranks. He hit a brick wall and got no answers, only more questions.

He had to try a different approach. Bribes. He found out that MacKenzie, one of the secretaries at Internal Affairs, had huge gambling debts. He left some bait by promising, not in so many words but clearly enough, that his problems would be over if MacKenzie would have a talk with him.

Could this be MacKenzie's answer?

Malcolm opened the envelope and removed a note. The note was written in a neat, precise fashion. The handwriting looked feminine and Malcolm had the feeling he'd seen it before.

_Lieutenant Reed,_

_I require your assistance._

_Please meet me today on 10.00 am at G. Gym._

_It is urgent._

_Commander T'Pol_

Finally she had contacted him. He had told her at Trip's funeral that if she needed help, he would be there. But she never had and he wondered if the words he had spoken had even registered. She had looked so distant.

But why leave a note like this? He couldn't wait to get the answer to that question.

G. Gym, or more correctly Gozani's Gym, was a huge complex full of sport facilities. Because the sport facilities at Starfleet Headquarters had been destroyed during the war, many Starfleet officers had become regular visitors at Gozani's.

He arrived at the Gym just before ten. He showed his pass and walked quickly toward the fitness area. T'Pol hadn't given him any details of where to meet, but from what he knew of her habits, she would be there.

He was so intent on his mission that he barely noticed other people on the way. He bumped into a person going in the other direction, a woman with a familiar face.

"Reed," the woman spoke, "It's not like you to not watch where you're going." The woman had long, brown hair that she wore in a ponytail, and was dressed in a red top with black shorts. Her artificial leg was clearly showing. She smiled at him with amusement. Amanda Cole.

Malcolm liked to see her again, but the thought of T'Pol waiting made him keep their talk brief. "You know, you still owe me that drink you promised a year ago," Amanda remarked at the end of their conversation. "What about tomorrow? I have the afternoon off. Say 5 pm at Harvey's at Admiral Forrest-street?"

"Sure," he agreed quickly, greeted her and walked on.

He found T'Pol, slowly working on one of the fitness machines. She looked tiny. He sat next to her, pretending they were friends who had accidentally met.

"Why did you contact me?" he asked right away.

T'Pol leaned towards him. Her eyes were dark pools, and in spite of her natural complexion, she looked pale and tired. "I have been investigating Commander Tucker's death and one of my sources told me you have been too."

"That why I wanted to speak to you in the first place. I've sent you a couple of messages, but you didn't reply," he answered.

He could catch a small surprise reflecting on her face, but she didn't respond to his words. "Yesterday I was followed by people from Internal Affairs and my Starfleet credit card was blocked, she only said in a low voice. "When I inquired at Starfleet Headquarters, the clerk said it was an administrative mistake, but..."

It hit him. "They are after you," he interrupted her. "One of my sources mentioned that there were rumors that Internal Affairs was leading an inquiry about your role in the war. He even suggested they wanted to arrest you."

Malcolm had dismissed the whole idea. It sounded too ridiculous. T'Pol was one of most respected officers in Starfleet. The last investigation into T'Pol had ended in disaster and would make them hesitant to start a new one. Besides, his source was an alcoholic clerk, working in one of the offices at Headquarters. He had been drinking and the alcohol had loosened his tongue.

Whatever the truth, the events of the last two weeks had made him realize he would have a much harder time finding the truth if T'Pol was under guard at Internal Affairs. She had to find a hiding place and stay low while he continued with his investigation. They needed a place somewhere no one would think to look, some one he trusted. Suddenly Amanda Cole came to mind.

* * *

**Part seven**

Red. All he could see were red spots before his eyes. It was like a sword stabbing into his brain, again and again. He felt sick and all he wanted was some peace, to lay down in a dark room with no light.

He heard the buzz of the scanner. Phlox wouldn't leave him in peace. Not after he stumbled into Phlox's sickbay at Headquarters, hardly seeing anything because of the spots before his eyes and his headache pounding away.

"Lay still, Captain," Phlox ordered him, pushing him gently down. "It is only going to work if you don't move."

The buzz stopped and he closed his eyes. "Breathe, Captain," Phlox instructed him, "Nice and slow." Jon breathed, focusing on his chest going up and down in a slow rhythm.

Jon sat up and felt the blood rush to his head. "What's wrong with me?"

Doctor Phlox looked up from the screen he was watching. "You appear to have a huge migraine."

"I've had headaches before, but nothing like this," Jon sighed. "Just give me a shot and get it over with."

"I will give you some medication and you need to rest," Phlox said sternly. "But it will not treat the cause."

Jon sensed where this conversation was heading and he wanted to avoid it at all cost. "I've got a lot on my mind. One shot and I'll be fine again."

"You keep yourself busy, because you are feeling guilty. Like me," Phlox emphasized every word. "Ignoring it will not make it go away."

"There was nothing I could have done," Jon called out, "The Section Thirty-one agent gave us an ultimatum: Trip leaves on the mission immediately or T'Pol is arrested and charged with treason right away. Can you believe it? Accusing T'Pol of being a traitor?"

He slowly came to a sitting position. "Trip and I both knew that he was the best man to investigate the leaked plans. Trip was our best hope of proving T'Pol's innocence. I wanted to tell her, but if I did the deal was off. Faking an accident and telling her that Trip was injured so badly you had to put him in stasis before treatment was the best excuse I could come up with."

Phlox gave him an earnest look. "Telling T'Pol that story still wears on my conscience, Captain. I didn't like it then and I still don't like it. Now that we know Trip died during the mission, we must do the right thing and tell her the truth."

Jon got more upset by the minute. Phlox had expressed the one thought that had plagued his mind. As T'Pol's friend he should tell her the truth. However, he was also a Starfleet captain. "T'Pol and Trip are almost family to me. I hate not telling her. But I have direct orders from Admiral Black."

"As her doctor I am obliged to tell her," Phlox said, giving him the look of a determined man. "Especially now that I've learned about her medical condition. I tried to contact her, but she wasn't at her home or at Headquarters. "

Jon had trouble digesting what Phlox was saying. Medical condition? T'Pol was sick? "I don't think you will be able to reach her," Jon finally shared the news he heard this morning. "I just got word she's fallen off the radar screen. She has been missing since yesterday."

Phlox's face became even more serious. "Then she is in real danger, Captain."


	3. White

**A/N:** This chapter takes place **before** chapter one and two, in which Trip is reported dead, and T'Pol and Malcolm are investigating what happened to him. This chapter and the next chapter reveal the events **before** Trip's so called death.

As for this chapter: the special door between Trip's and T'Pol quarters wasn't my idea. All the credit for that goes to Rigil Kent.

Special thanks for EntAllat for being an awesome beta and PaulineM for all her help. Thank you all for your interest in _World of Ice_ and your kind reviews.

**Disclaimer** : Enterprise and its characters are property of CBS/Paramount.

* * *

**Part one**

**2161. Five months before Trip's disappearance.**

White. It always filled Liz Cutler with pride when she put on her white medical coat. Her hands moved to the sides to remove any wrinkles. Glancing in the mirror, she saw a young doctor eager to go to work. Yesterday had been a very rewarding and interesting day. As a consultant from the Department of Exobiology, she first had a conference call with a Vulcan and a physician in the pulmonary department about the physiology of Vulcan lungs. After this, she was called to the Emergency Room where she comforted and treated a small Tellerite child who had fallen down the stairs and broken her leg. Later that day she'd held a little Andorian baby in her arms and talked to a wonderful old lady who had just successfully gone through heart surgery using a Denobulan technique. Liz had realized how much the interaction with patients and medical personnel, alien and Human, meant for her. She was glad that in her job helping aliens and Humans, doctors and patients, she could draw from the experience and knowledge she'd gained during her years on Enterprise.

Liz had always loved her work as a medic on Enterprise. Fascinated by medicine, people and space, she'd thought that her job was the best one ever. Over the years Doctor Phlox had trained her well, and she had continued to study. After the war Phlox, saying that he firmly believed in her talent, had encouraged her to join the staff of the Starfleet Medical Research facility in San Francisco that he had founded with a team of Starfleet doctors.

He couldn't have given her better advice. Phlox knew medicine and study was her passion, but he also knew that she needed a strong distraction from her personal life. Given her keen interest in alien species, she had always thought she would marry an alien man; she had even pursued Phlox at one time. But while Phlox remained a dear friend of hers, in the second year of the war a human called John Collard had won her heart completely. She had married him in the third year of the war and lost him in the fourth, leaving deep scars in her soul.

She was certain that no voice would ever tell her again that she was the most beautiful woman in the world, that there would be no one who loved to talk for hours with her or to laugh at her jokes and that never again someone would hold her in the night. And now, there would be no one who would be the father of her children.

Liz sighed. People on Earth had no idea what sacrifices had been made and what sorrow and pain the war had caused within the ranks of Starfleet to keep their planet safe from Romulan rule.

Amanda Cole, her roommate, saw her standing in front of the mirror. "Big day, Lizzie?" she teased. "Or just another boring day at the office?"

She and Amanda had rarely interacted during the time they had served both on Enterprise. But during the war, Amanda was injured and lost one of her legs. The two had met again when Amanda became a test subject for new artificial limbs developed by the new medical research facility. Liz had been looking for a place to live. Amanda had just found an apartment and had come to the conclusion she needed a roommate. Both of them were skeptical whether it would work, but it had turned out better than they expected. Behind Amanda's cocky smile and tough appearance Liz had discovered a true friend.

"Working as a doctor is never boring, Amanda," she answered, not realizing that the day to come would prove how true her words were.

* * *

**Part two**

**2161. The same day, five months before Trip's disappearance.**

White. The white building of the facility was bathed in morning sunshine as she arrived at work. Liz smiled. She belonged in this place. Liz was proud to work here in this white building, together with the team of dedicated, talented colleagues from different species. United in their differences, they all were joined by the goal of the facility: using their talents to develop new medical techniques and offer the best medical care. That was always in the back of her mind when she started her daily rounds. Today her assignment would be a meeting with a delegation from Starfleet. Delegates from several ships had been invited for a tour of the facility. She made her rounds and then quickly went to the conference room for the meeting. There, to her surprise, she found that Commander Tucker and T'Pol were among the guests.

Liz recalled the first time she had seen the science officer. The Vulcan woman hadn't been wearing Starfleet blues back then and hadn't joined the ranks of Starfleet as yet. Liz had respected the no-nonsense way T'Pol had run the Science department. She'd found T'Pol friendly in her Vulcan way, communicating about work related subjects and nothing else, and keeping her distance. Liz had wondered if she'd felt lonely, being the only Vulcan among Humans. Tucker seemed the only one she talked to as a friend. Later, T'Pol had become the first Vulcan officer of Starfleet. A few from other species in the Coalition had joined since then, but Liz always remembered that T'Pol had paved the way.

During the war Liz and T'Pol had served on the same ship, but without much contact. The only time they'd spent together had been under much more private circumstances. Liz always had known the relationship between T'Pol and the chief engineer was special, but she'd assumed it was nothing more than a deep and complex friendship. Her eyes were opened when Phlox told her in all secrecy that he'd worked on a method for the conception of a Human-Vulcan child in order to help Trip and T'Pol. That was when she first knew they were a couple.

In the third year of the war, when it seemed they were heading for a long sought after peace, Phlox had made a significant breakthrough in his research. It was based on the first Vulcan-Human hybrid they had heard of: Lorian. Phlox had started with the procedures for T'Pol. To their amazement, T'Pol had become pregnant after only a couple of months. Still, Phlox was very cautious, and he'd been right to be so: within a couple of weeks T'Pol had had a miscarriage. Liz would never forget the looks of despair on the commanders' faces.

By then, Earth had learned that the Romulans had been playing them and had no intention of ending the war. A vicious attack on one of the Coalition's colonies started a second round of warfare, this time bloodier and more violent than before. Earth's hope for peace had been crushed, and another two years of war followed.

But peace did come eventually, and now the medical facility Liz worked for was trying to heal the wounds of that war. One of the current projects was the development of more sophisticated artificial limbs for the soldiers returning home. That department was the first one of their tour today, after which the public relations officer who led the tour showed the way to the pulmonary department. Here artificial lungs were being made. Medical and engineering personnel were also working on new techniques which would help a human with limited lung capacity to breathe more easily in a different atmosphere than Earth. After visiting some more departments, the officer announced it was time for lunch.

Walking to the facility cafeteria, Commander Tucker stepped next to Liz. "Isn't Anna Hess also working here?"

Liz nodded. Hess was one of their top engineers, combining her work with being a mother of two. "She is working on our family project," she answered. Suddenly Liz realized that if anyone would have an interest in that work, it would be Tucker and T'Pol.

She asked Trip if she could show them what Hess was working on, and her suggestion was met with enthusiasm. Without getting into details, Liz asked the PR officer if she could show the commanders another department. After receiving permission they headed to a corner of the fourth floor. As they passed the reception area, Liz explained why this department was called the family project. There wasn't much to see, except for some rooms with bio beds, so Liz walked straight to the area she wanted to show.

A huge water tank was in the middle of that room next to an object half the size of an adult Human. Oval-shaped with an open space in the middle, the object was covered with thick but soft looking material. T'Pol recognized it at once. "An artificial womb," she said, clearly fascinated.

"Hess has been working on this, together with Doctor Harris," Liz told them. Tucker ran his fingertips over the soft fabric and looked from it from every angle. T'Pol pulled out her scanner from her shirt-pocket and started scanning. "I have read about those wombs before," T'Pol remarked, "but until now they were just an idea. Can this really function as a real womb?" Her voice betrayed her hope.

"Yes, it can," Liz answered. "The development team noted that conception is only the first stage. It can be accomplished naturally, and when that doesn't work there are other technological possibilities. So conception isn't the problem, but the next stage. For some couples, having a child isn't possible because the mother's womb is gone or not functioning. For others, the problem is when the genes of the mother are so different from the baby that her body rejects the child," she added softly. Trip's face darkened at her words.

Liz moved her hand across the skin of the womb. "The skin helps the womb to stay at the right temperature. A tube resembling the umbilical cord is connected to the baby to feed him. The mother carries a monitor and the information about her vital signs is used as input for the womb. In this way, the baby can hear the same sounds that she would if she were actually in the mother's womb. We then place the womb in the tank and fill it with a liquid that has the same qualities as amniotic fluid. In every aspect, this womb is a duplicate of a real one. The great advantage of this artificial womb is that it can be adjusted to the child's needs. It's a way to sustain the child in a similar, but better, environment in order to grow and fully develop."

Taking a deep breath, she continued, "As an exobiologist, I was mostly interested in the fact that two interspecies couples have shown interest in this project. Because of the different genetic make-up of the father and mother, the artificial womb is a possible solution for them."

It was surprising to see how different the two persons before her reacted to the news. T'Pol was clearly interested, making notes and asking questions. Tucker had folded his arms before him and looked skeptical.

"What exactly are the chances for a successful pregnancy?" T'Pol asked another question.

"It's still in an experimental stage, Commander, but we estimate that the chances of success are high," Liz answered her.

"But there is still a chance of losing the baby," Tucker interrupted. He sounded calm, but Liz could sense his pain of loss when he said bluntly "That's hell for a mother and a father. Nobody wants to put their spouse through that kind of misery."

Liz felt herself blush. "If we didn't think the womb would work, this project wouldn't exist, Commander Tucker. It isn't an easy fix, and yes, things could go terribly wrong. Couples have to make a huge decision. However, besides the risk of failure, there's also a great possibility: the miracle of a child."

T'Pol stood by, saying nothing. To Liz's amazement T'Pol placed her hand on Tucker's arm and squeezed it gently. He relaxed at once. "Thank you for showing us around," the Vulcan said to Liz. "It was most informative, but I think it's time for us to return to the group."

Liz knew T'Pol was right. As they walked back to the group, Liz wondered what the couple behind her was thinking about this artificial womb. She glanced behind to see them walking closely together. "United in their differences," Liz thought. T'Pol hastened her pace and addressed Liz. "We would like to receive more information from Doctor Harris," she said. Pleasantly surprised, Liz promised to send his PADD-communication address right away.

The next week Liz found herself hoping she would hear from T'Pol again. She really wanted to help Trip and T'Pol, a couple which had been through so much. Liz was sure both of them would be great parents and she knew this artificial womb could be the answer to their problems. She considered contacting them directly, or speaking to Doctor Phlox, but a short message she received a week later from Commander Tucker changed everything.

It read, "Liz, you're right about miracles." She sighed with relief.

* * *

**Part three**

**2161. Two weeks before Trip's disappearance.**

White. Trip always loved to wake up draped into T'Pol's white satin sheets, her warm body close by. It was 4 a.m., normally the time that T'Pol would get up for her daily meditation and the time for him to move to the cabin next door, but not today.

When they'd married and were subsequently asked by Starfleet to keep a low profile and more or less act like they were separated, it posed a problem. Trip could manage not to show any signs of affection in public, but he'd wanted his wife close by in private. The change of personnel on Enterprise provided them with the solution. As first officer, T'Pol was able to arrange the relocation of crew quarters in such a way that they'd ended up with adjoining cabins. Trip had used his talents to make a door connecting the two quarters and masked the door with a cloaking device, a technology he had found in an alien database. From the outside it looked like two cabins, but they were, in fact, two joined rooms.

Trip had also placed detectors before the door of both cabins, so any visitors would be quickly detected. If someone came to his door and he was in T'Pol's cabin, he had only to walk through the adjoining door to welcome the guest at his own doorstep. But today if a crewmember were to buzz at this door he would stay here. Nothing could take him away from T'Pol. Today they would know if they would become parents.

After meeting with Liz Cutler, he and T'Pol had had a long talk in private. Trip had told her he wanted to leave Starfleet and start a family, but he'd also expressed his fear that the dangers of a pregnancy were too high.

"Do you really trust this new technology? I thought the development of an artificial womb was still in a very experimental stage."

"When we married, we agreed we both wanted children. I've been following the progress in the field of fertility techniques and other closely related ever since then," T'Pol told him. "This is the most advanced technology."

"You never told me that," he commented. "But then again, we haven't talked about having kids for a long time."

"The time never seemed appropriate," she answered. "We had a war to fight, and after the war we both had a hard time adjusting to the new situation. We were also both very reluctant to try again after our last attempt."

That was the understatement of the year. After the hard loss of their daughter, T'Pol's unexpected pregnancy three years ago had given them hope. Trip vividly remembered the glimpse of pure happiness on T'Pol's face when they had heard she was pregnant and the glow of joy that had been in her eyes. She had been so content until her miscarriage had dashed all hopes. A dark period of hopelessness, despair, grief and pain for both of them had followed.

"And now? Do you want to try again?" he asked, hoping and fearing at the same time that her answer would be yes.

T'Pol didn't answer the question, but started to explain the procedure. "It's ideal for a Vulcan-Human child. Even when conception is successful, my body would eventually reject the Human genes in the embryo, like it did the last time. If the baby were transported, before this happens, to the artificial womb, it would survive and would continue to develop, fully monitored. The womb would be fully adapted to her or his specific biological needs. Every precaution can be taken. This technology would greatly improve our chance of success."

"So your answer is yes," Trip concluded. A feeling of joy overcame him and he realized he wanted this baby as much as his wife. Still, he wasn't completely sure. "What about the risk for the child? Won't it affect the baby, growing up in a clinical water tank outside her mother's body? And what will we do if we lose the baby? I couldn't take that again, and I know it would kill you, too."

"Please sit down, Trip," T'Pol responded. They both sat down at the bed. T'Pol searched his face and took his hand in hers. Her smaller hand disappeared in his. "I can't wish for a better father for my children. For us, this is the best option. There are ways to connect with the baby, not only through technology, but also through our bond with the child. Whatever the technology used, the baby will be ours and we will cherish it. Our daughter was created by cloning and by scientists of Terra Prime who only thought of her as a tool. But…"

"From the moment we saw her, we loved her," he finished her sentence. "I know. But we also grieved for her and the baby we lost by your miscarriage. We have to face the possibility that we might lose yet another child."

Trip could sense T'Pol's great pain and despair through the bond, as she remembered both events. The pain didn't show on her face, however, and when she looked up at him, her expression was firm. "It would be painful," she answered, "but pain can't be avoided. It's worth the risk. Vulcans call it "rokel", the desire to have a child. Rokel means living hope - hope for something that can't be explained by logic. It's seen as one of the primal emotions of a Vulcan, rooted in us before the days of The Awakening. It's vital for our survival as a species and in that way, only logical."

"Rokel" he said, "what a beautiful word." He stood up and turned to her. "So where do we go from here? Back to the petri dish? I assume the natural way of conception is out of the question." As much as he wanted to have a child born out sweet surrender and love between him and his wife, Trip was enough of a realist to know that wasn't possible for them.

"Yes," she said and her voice sounded sad. "However agreeable that method is, our biological differences make it impossible to conceive in a normal way."

"Just agreeable?" he teased her in an attempt to lighten the mood.

It worked. T'Pol's eyes looked at him in amusement. "Exceptionally agreeable, Commander Tucker."

He laughed and vowed to himself that tonight he would show her how "exceptionally agreeable" their lovemaking could be. "Did you contact the doctor?" he asked.

"I will."

Trip moved a bit closer to his wife in the bed next to him. She was sleeping peacefully. He looked at T'Pol as she lay on her pillow, her beautiful eyes closed, her face in rest, her hair disheveled. Five years he had been married to her: a complex, wonderful, intelligent, compassionate and witty person. She challenged him; her observations still amused him. She had supported him throughout difficult times, her love and their bond sustaining him. It spite of their differences and difficulties, he wouldn't have missed a day with her.

They had spoken to Doctor Harris of the Fertility Research Department of the San Francisco Medical Center and with Phlox as well. Phlox was thrilled about the idea, and in secret they had started with T'Pol's treatments. The first two attempts had failed, but two weeks ago they had started the third attempt. Today they would know if that had been successful. Though neither had spoken about it, Trip knew both of them had great hope that this time the result would be positive. They were both ready to leave Starfleet and longing to start a new life with their own family.

T'Pol stirred in her sleep; after a few seconds she opened her eyes. Trip placed his arms around his wife and pulled her close. He placed his hand on her flat stomach, feeling her hot, soft skin under his fingers and wondering if in the belly beneath his hand, life – his child – was present. "Big day today."

"Yes," T'Pol answered. For a couple of moments, they lay together in silence. He observed her as she stared at the ceiling, deep in thought. Trip heard her take a deep breath before T'Pol slowly slipped out of the bed.

Trip stayed in the bed, watching her go. With one of those gestures he had seen a thousand times and never grew tired of, she arranged her disheveled hair and put on her robe. Suppressing feelings of nervousness – both hers and his - he waited patiently as she disappeared in the bathroom.

T'Pol came out holding a small box. Her eyes were fully focused on it as she told him she had finished the procedure and they only had to push the red button to hear if their attempt had been successful.

T'Pol pushed and a cracking computer voice told them "No pregnancy detected."

He swallowed and he felt waves of disappointment coming from T'Pol, drowning him. T'Pol didn't move or speak; she only stared at the box.

Trip felt a big lump in his throat forming, making speaking difficult. "Darlin'," he said in a hoarse voice, "I am so sorry," He pulled her on the bed, into his arms, caressing her back with his hands, over and over again in a desperate attempt to make the pain go away.

Buried into his shoulder T'Pol whispered, bringing up an old pain of hers, "I can't give you children."

"You don't know that," he comforted her. "We can try for another time. As long as it takes." He cupped her face into his hands and kissed her. She responded with a kiss that tasted of despair. The bond sizzled between them, fueled by their emotions. Desperate to find comfort, to touch, to hold, and to be one, they let their passion ease their sadness. Afterwards, in each other's arms, skin to skin, surrounded with the scent that was T'Pol, he fell into a merciful sleep.

When he woke up, T'Pol was looking intently at him, studying the lines of his face. "I am going to meditate," she said. Through the bond he felt her raw emotions pounding anew at her soul, reflecting his. He didn't meditate as much as she, but he needed it too.

"I'll join you," he responded.

She raised an eyebrow. "I am not shutting you out, Trip."

"I won't let you, woman. It's good for both of us," he answered. He took the candle from her closet and lit it. Then he kneeled down on a pillow and gestured her to do the same. Eyes closed, they focused on their white space, a beacon in the storm.


	4. Rokel

**A/N:** This chapter takes place **right after **chapter three. It's from Trip's POV and reveals the events before his so called death.

Also, references are made to this story's prequel, _The Captives_. In that story the investigation of Terra Prime leads to a prison sentence for T'Pol and Hoshi sustains an injury that impairs her hearing.

Special thanks for EntAllat for being an awesome beta and PaulineM for all her help.

**Disclaimer: **see chapter one.

* * *

**Part one**

**2161. Later that day, two weeks before Trip's disappearance**.

White. Trip longed to be in the white space he had left behind. After their time together, he had gone to his quarters, taken a shower, tried to eat some breakfast and went back to work. It almost felt like this was one of those normal days. But it wasn't. The disappointment of the early morning hours still burned inside of him.

He focused on some repair work. It was not normally the sort of work the chief engineer should be spending his time on, but working with his hands always provided him with the necessary distraction. At noon, as he returned to his office for some paperwork, he received a notice from Archer. He was ordered to come to the captain's ready room to discuss a message received from Starfleet Command. Trip had no idea what it was about and, frankly, he couldn't have cared less.

He walked straight to Jon's office and buzzed the comm. Jon opened the door. "Thanks for coming on such short notice," the captain greeted him warmly. "Please take a seat."

Trip noticed two other men present as he entered. The first person had short, gray hair and broad eyebrows and gave him a stern look. "Commander Peterson, Starfleet Special Services," he introduced himself in the same impeccable English as Malcolm. He gave Trip a brief smile that didn't reach his eyes. The other man was tall with dark blond hair and, like Peterson, came across as confident and controlled. He held out his hand. "Dubois. Lieutenant Roger Dubois. Starfleet Special Services." His English pronunciation was good, but Trip could hear a twinge of an accent. In all these years in Starfleet he had never heard of a division called Special Services.

Trip sat down. He concentrated on the men who joined him at the table, trying not to think about the events of the morning and the dull pain of disappointment that had accompanied him ever since. Jon's face sobered when he started. "Commander, this meeting is off the record. You're not permitted to discuss the matters at hand with anybody. Everything that is said during this meeting is classified information."

A frown formed on Jon's forehead. Trip looked at him more closely. Lines of tiredness were written on his face, his mouth now a grim line. His shoulders seemed tensed up in defense; his hands were firmly placed on the desk. It was as if he suddenly carried the burden of the whole world on his shoulders. It reminded Trip so much of the captain during their time in the Expanse or, more recently, during the long battles in the war. He hadn't much time to think about it, because without hesitation, Dubois took the lead. "There are several events that have come to our attention, and because one of these concerns you, Commander, we would like to hear your comments."

"Go ahead, Lieutenant Dubois," Trip said. He wondered what this meeting was all about. He had the feeling it had to do with security matters. Wouldn't Malcolm be a much better choice, rather than the chief engineer?

"Four years ago we were told by the Tellarite government that Ambassador Gral would no longer be their representative. A few months later, rumors spread that he was wounded during a bar fight and had killed a man. It was reported that Gral was drunk at the time. For his actions he was expelled from his position as ambassador."

"I always knew those rumors were made up to smear Gral," Jon interjected, pushing his chair back to stand up. Dubois's eyes narrowed and his mouth tightened, annoyed by the interruption.

Leaving his place at the table, Archer started to pace. He stopped by a cabinet, studying a bottle of Andorian ale that had been standing there for years. Jon picked the bottle up and placed it down with a wry smile.

"Sit down, Captain," Dubois ordered and Jon returned to the table.

Trip shifted in his chair. A feeling of unease settled in him. On Enterprise, either on the bridge or his Ready Room, Archer always was in charge. He was the one who gave the orders, not an unknown guy like Dubois.

"A year later," Dubois continued in that monotone voice of his, "we were informed about the tragic death of Commander Shran, but only recently did we receive intel regarding the true events surrounding his death." Dubois pushed himself off the desk. "The commander was discharged from his position with the Andorian Imperial Guard without honor after his criminal activities were uncovered. There are rumors he faked his death."

Trip was flabbergasted. He knew Jon and Shran were good friends. The news of Shran's death had hit Archer hard. He glanced at Jon, but the captain only looked at him, waiting for him to reply.

"You want to know what I think about this?" Trip asked. He raked a hand through his hair, just to stall for time. "Everybody makes stupid mistakes," he offered. "I hardly knew Ambassador Gral; the story could be true, but it doesn't fit the man. As for Commander Shran," Trip shrugged, "I've known him to be a man of integrity and honor."

"I couldn't agree more," Jon commented, which earned him another stare from Dubois. Then, without a word, Dubois laid down a PADD. Archer glanced nervously in his direction. "There's also a case involving a Starfleet officer," Dubois said. "Before the war, the officer was charged with using a mind-altering substance while in command. The key evidence was in the officer's medical file that was stolen by a terrorist organization that Starfleet was investigating at the time."

Alarms went off in Trip's head. He pushed a feeling of panic down. He wasn't going to lose T'Pol. Not like the last time, after the events of Terra Prime. At that time every crewmember had been questioned, every file and document searched. The investigation had led to an intensive string of interrogations of him and T'Pol at a time when they were at their lowest, grieving the loss of their daughter. When T'Pol's use of trellium-D while being in command had been exposed, a stream of events followed which ended in T'Pol being sent to prison.

He hadn't been able to help T'Pol. Never had he felt so powerless and alone without her. He never wanted to be in that situation again. When she was released from prison, he had promised himself that nobody would hurt T'Pol any more. He would protect her, even if it was the last thing that he did.

"You may think that's in the past," Dubois continued, leaning slightly towards Trip as if wanting to convince him, "but recently we heard from a reliable source that this officer offered information about new technologies, developed by you, to the Romulans in exchange for information about the officer's father's whereabouts. This is supported by several pieces of evidence."

The minute Dubois brought it up Trip knew it couldn't be true. "You're talking about Commander T'Pol," he interrupted Dubois, calmly. He turned to Archer. "Are you aware of these charges, Captain?" he asked, hardly containing his anger. "You of all people should know that T'Pol has given everything to build the Coalition. She's been your XO for years and served you with all she's got. You know that T'Pol wouldn't do anything that would hurt Starfleet."

Jon straightened his back. "I am aware of the situation, Commander," he replied. His voice sounded authoritative, as the captain of Enterprise would, but there was a sense of despair in his look, a plea in his eyes for Trip to help him. Trip realized T'Pol wasn't the only one in trouble.

Understanding he wouldn't get help from Archer, Trip turned to the two other men at the table. "Your reliable source didn't have all the facts," he said. "Commander T'Pol told me what happened. About three years ago she received a message that her father was alive and that he would be released from prison if she provided the Romulans with information about our technology. She showed me the message, but she had already decided not to give the Romulans any information whatsoever."

"And you believe her?" Peterson finally spoke for the first time after the introductions. He had been taking notes, but the dark timbre in Peterson's voice, his stern expression and the way Commander Peterson radiated authority made Trip realize he wasn't a mere observer, but the man in charge.

"Yes, sir," he answered firmly, "without a shadow of a doubt." He leaned forward and stared at the two men, ready to tear down any accusation made against T'Pol.

"The evidence against Commander T'Pol is overwhelming," Peterson replied, hardly impressed. "We have copies of your blueprints, found in a Romulan base, and a recording of conversation between the Commander and a Romulan agent that our specialist in communication, Lieutenant Jubulaata, has declared authentic. This, plus several suspicious decrypted files in the commander's computer."

Jubulaata was Head of the Department of Communication at Starfleet Command. Trip wished Hoshi had been able to examine this so-called evidence, but Hoshi had been given a more background function in Starfleet after an accident in which her hearing was impaired during one of the first attacks by the Romulans. Jubulaata had continued a steady career in the field of communications with Starfleet. However, Trip trusted Hoshi and knew she had the intuition and skills to see beyond what was presented, qualities that Jubulaata lacked.

"I want that evidence examined again and again if we have to. I suggest you ask Hoshi Sato, who's an expert in these kinds of things. Those blueprints, that recording, and those files must be false," Trip replied. "And I will give you plenty of reasons not to believe those accusations." He breathed in slowly, the same pattern that T'Pol had taught him so many years before. "Commander T'Pol has been extremely loyal to Starfleet, Earth and Vulcan, serving us for many years. She lost her family connections and her status on Vulcan by doing so. As a Vulcan, her decisions would be based on logic, not emotions. She told me that her father had been declared dead decades ago, but if he was alive, he wouldn't want to be freed at the expense of thousands or maybe even millions of lives. Not to mention the effect on the Coalition and the future of all our worlds. She couldn't live with it and she certainly wouldn't betray me behind my back by selling my work to the enemy." Trip felt his anger rise up again. "You're chasing down the wrong person. It looks like a setup to harm T'Pol, and you're falling right into it."

Peterson didn't blink. "You seem to have gained Commander T'Pol's trust. You know her well." The suggestion in his voice was clear.

Trip wasn't surprised that Peterson and Dubois would know about his relationship with T'Pol. They had probably been waiting for him to defend her. Strangely enough, both men hardly seemed interested in what he had to say. So why had they invited him to this meeting?

"Yes, I am a good friend of T'Pol," he replied. "But you already know this. What's going on here?"

"Let's assume someone comes to you with the accusations made against Commander Shran and Commander T'Pol. What would you do?" Peterson asked in a more friendly tone.

It was like he heard the characteristic voice of his wife in his head: when events seem random, find the common factor. Suddenly Trip saw a pattern in the stories he had been listening too. "Ambassador Gral, Commander Shran and T'Pol are all supportive of Captain Archer, and have been of great value to the Coalition. They are also come from three different species, all of those that have joined the Coalition. This is a set-up to isolate Captain Archer and weaken the Coalition," Trip answered. "All these accusations should be investigated with the means to find who is behind this before our enemy succeeds."

Peterson smiled tightly. "That's why we asked for you, Commander Tucker. We also have seen a pattern and we have reason to believe Romulans have infiltrated us. To draw them out, we need you. You're the bait to catch the spy."

Dubois presented a PADD screen with a map of a star system. "This is the Dosa system, home of the planet Tikari. We have a Starfleet base on this planet, and from this base the evidence against Commander T'Pol was sent. Your orders are to go there, find the original source and study it."

"Meanwhile we are going to monitor every communication at Starfleet to see if anyone sends a message about your action, killing two birds with a stone," Peterson added.

Archer gave him an earnest look. "You're the only one who can do this job, Trip. Knowing your own work by heart, you could easily find if it has been tampered with," he said.

Trip tried to digest what just happened. He had expected that his idea of a set-up and his plea for an in-depth investigation of this so-called evidence would fall on deaf ears. But Peterson and Dubois had agreed with him. What's more, they had given him an order for a mission to prove he was right.

"Who's with me on this mission? What kind of section of space are we heading for? What if the Romulans intercept the mission team and capture me?" Trip asked.

"You're still operating in Coalition space, Commander. You will be able to communicate with us through a secret channel. At any sign of trouble we will come and rescue you," Peterson answered. He handled him a small device. "This device will allow you to communicate with us all the time. Put it behind your ear."

Trip picked it up from the table with two fingers. He studied it for a second. It was small and round like a patch. He should do as he was told. There was no way he could refuse this mission.

"Put it behind your ear," Peterson repeated. "Now, Commander Tucker. The operation starts within an hour. This device is the key for our success."

Reluctantly, Trip did like he was told and pushed the patch behind his ear. It attached itself to his ear right away. It left a burning sensation and he felt nauseous. For a moment he lost focus and he closed his eyes.

He felt a hand grasping him by the upper arm. "Concentrate, Commander," he heard Peterson say. "The device is necessary for us to keep in contact with you, but some people experience some side-effects during the first minutes it's activated."

Trip opened his eyes. T'Pol, he thought, I need T'Pol. I need to tell her what going on. He searched for her through the bond, but to his disappointment he couldn't contact her.

He hadn't time to think about the cause, because Peterson handed him a package. "In here you will find a protection suit. It's essential for the mission. You will put in on and leave this room. Then you have twenty minutes to go to the conduits storage at section B.10.40.C.3. You will reroute the power to reduce the current within the conduits in this section. You'll do it in such a way that the power reduction isn't detected. You will also have to adjust the conduits according to the specifications you will receive from us."

Trip frowned. The assignment was simple enough; he could do it with his eyes closed. He had done far more complicated missions during the war. But he hadn't expected to be leaving today. He never liked to be on a mission without T'Pol, but especially today he wanted to be close to her. On top of that, Trip couldn't deny the feeling of unease he still had about this mission.

Peterson continued. "After twenty minutes, an old friend of Captain Archer's will contact Enterprise, claiming he's in trouble and being chased down by criminals. Archer will help him and bring him safely onto the ship. On your return trip, you will go to section B.190.40.C.3. There, two of our agents will beam up to Enterprise, disguised as the criminals, pretending to be looking for the captain's friend. They will threaten Archer's life. You're going to save the captain by creating a distraction."

"Don't tell me. I have to create an explosion by pushing the conduits together," Trip interrupted, trying very hard to keep his annoyance out of his voice. He and the crew had fought and saved each other's tails during the war in far more creative ways. "No Chief Engineer would do that. This is a task for security. Will people not question that I didn't call for them?"

"People believe what they have been told. There's no risk involved. Due to the rerouting of electricity and the adjustment of the conduits there will only be a small explosion. Combined with the protection suit you're wearing, if you sustain any injuries, they will be minor," Dubois answered. "Medics will take you to sickbay and Phlox will put you in the imaging chamber. From there you will be transported to a cloaked ship that will take you to a Starfleet base. After that, everybody will hear you've been severely injured and transported to a specialized hospital, fighting for your life. That will explain your absence."

Trip's interest was piqued. A cloaked ship capable of warp at the same time? That he wanted to see. But Dubois's other remark about Phlox confused him. On one hand, the fact that both the captain and Phlox knew about the mission reassured him. On the other hand, Phlox knew about his private situation, trying to have a family with T'Pol, and hadn't even hinted to him about the accusations made against T'Pol or this dangerous mission.

His doubts must been evidently written on his face, because Peterson turned to him and pinned Trip down with a look. "We need to do this, Commander. Starfleet has been plagued by the Romulans far too long. This is our chance. You're our man: the engineer who has the ability to prove those accusations wrong - not only against Commander T'Pol, but also against your friends. "

In the corner of his eye Trip saw Jon stiffen with those last words. His mind was reeling. Ever since T'Pol had been sentenced to prison after the events of Terra Prime, the idea that someone had been after her had been a nagging thought. This was his chance to find some answers, to find the person behind this all. If he found out the truth, he could protect T'Pol and help Jon. If the traitor were found it would be the end of their troubles and the beginning of a new life with his wife, in peace. It was worth the risk.

"I want Lieutenant Reed on the team." Trip said. He'd feel more reassured with Malcolm with him.

The captain tapped with his fingers, but instead of him, Peterson answered "Dubois is going with you. He has more experience in this kind of missions. Also Lieutenant Sabin is part of the team. Sabin can crack any code and will monitor any communication that will give us a clue about the whereabouts of the traitor. Reed isn't allowed to know, and you're not to say a single word about this mission to Commander T'Pol. Keeping this mission a secret is of the utmost importance. If someone got wind that we are trying to smoke out the infiltrators, all our efforts will be for nothing, and people – good people who helped build the Coalition – are going to pay. Do you understand, Commander?"

Trip nodded slowly, but he felt like Peterson had just cut off his safety line. He wished he could tell Malcolm and T'Pol. He had to find a way to let T'Pol known that he was on a mission and not injured in a hospital. She had a hard time already without worrying about him. He had to do so without breaking his promise to keep the mission confidential and without putting his team at risk.

"Glad we understand each other," Peterson responded with a stiff smile. He laid down a PADD on the table. "Now about that "friend" of Archer. He wants to be part of our team, because he believes the person behind this is responsible for losing his position. In the next few days he will make a surprise visit to Enterprise."

For the first time during the meeting, Trip saw the captain's body relax. Whoever this friend was, he was good news for the captain. Peterson pushed a button at the PADD and the face of a well-known person with blue skin and two antennae's appeared.

"Commander Shran," Trip exclaimed in disbelief. "According to Starfleet reports, you died three years ago."

"Don't believe everything you hear, Commander Tucker," Shran replied.

* * *

**Part two**

**Romulan space. Two weeks later. **

White. White sparks flew off the console, smoke and fire was around them. Their small vessel shook under another blast. "Orion pirates!" Sabin yelled.

McKenzie, the latest edition to their team, turned the ship around and moved in the other direction. It was without any effect, because their vessel was hit again. A huge explosion followed, knocking every one off their feet. Quickly Trip helped Dubois off the ground, while Sabin helped McKenzie. Their pilot fled back to his place.

"How can they target us when we are cloaked?" Trip said aloud, but the only answer he got was another blast that set one of the consoles on fire. Dubois rushed to the site and succeeded in putting the fire out. Trip tried his communication device again, as he had before, but all he got was static.

The device on which this mission depended wasn't working. Starfleet wasn't nearby and wasn't coming to rescue them.

"I am detecting a torpedo heading towards us," Sabin reported. Within seconds a huge blast against the side of the ship knocked it around. The alarm went off. "Red alert! Warp breach in sixty seconds!"

"To the shuttle pods!" Dubois ordered.

"If the warp core explodes, the pods won't protect us from the blast," Trip shouted. "Go! I'll try to prevent a warp breach." While he ran towards the core, his mind flew towards T'Pol, of that last morning they had spent together. Ever since he'd started this mission, he hadn't been able to feel her in his mind. It was one of the emptiest feelings he'd ever known. At least he had been able to leave her a message he was on a mission.

His fingers flew over the warp core console. "Red alert. Warp breach in 10 seconds," the computer reported. Trip froze for a nano-second. He wasn't going to make it.

Continuing to work feverishly, he was up against all odds. Only a miracle could save him from dying in an explosion.

"Warp breach in 3 seconds."

Trip closed his eyes. This was it. He had failed. He was going to die, far away from home, his wife and friends. "Forgive me, T'Pol," he whispered, waiting for the end to come.

He felt his body being dematerialized in a thousand pieces, before he became whole again on a cold floor. A wild joy ran through his veins. He was alive! Starfleet had rescued him. He looked up, expecting to a smiling face of a Starfleet officer. Instead he stared into the face of an ugly Orion. The Orion raised his hand. Trip could see a phaser aimed at him. A burning, piercing pain ran through his chest and he crashed back on the floor, losing all consciousness.

#

He was still on the floor. His bones felt cold as ice. His head was pounding, his chest burning with agonizing pain. He could hear voices. A man. Two men. A female. Her voice was familiar. He had heard it before. He didn't have the strength to go up, before the world become dark again.

He opened his eyes. He was in a different place. His hands were tied behind his back. His feet were locked in a holding device in the shape of a block. He tried to sit straight up and looked around in a dimly lilted room.

Trip counted four other people. He recognized an Andorian and a Tellarite. Unlike other Tellerites Trip had seen, this one didn't have a beard. Both of them had bruises on their neck and arms. Their faces were swollen, and the Andorian had a large cut on his face. In the corner he saw a man and a woman. The man had gray hair and friendly features. He was clearly Vulcan, but there was something off about his face. He had also dark marks of bruises on his face and several scars. The female looked Vulcan, but her emotions of pain were so plainly written on her face, he doubted if she was an hundred percent Vulcan. Smears of dry green blood and mud were on her face, along with some bruises. She wore trousers above a long, dirty and bloodstained shirt that clung to her bulging belly. She was pregnant. Had she been a Human woman, Trip would have guessed she was five months into her pregnancy. Trip felt so sorry for the woman to be in this position. He whispered to her "Are you all right?"

The man next to her moved his upper body towards the female, as if he wanted to protect her. His hands and feet were tied like Trip's, but his eyes burned in a clear message "Don't come near." It wasn't until that that Trip realized what had been different in the face of the Vulcan male. His ear was deformed. The tip of his right ear had been cut off. There were no visible scars or marks to been seen around his ear, so it looked like it had been done a long time ago.

"Are you human?" the Andorian addressed Trip, both his antennae's bowing in his direction. "Of course he is!" the Tellarite mocked. "Look at his ugly hair and his horrible eye color." Before Trip could reply, there was a noise at the door. Two soldiers came in, looking nothing like Orions. They had the same complexion as Humans and ridges around their eyes. Trip had seen this species before, but he couldn't remember when. One soldier cut the binding on his hands and released his feet, the other started to shout: "S'tivh khumae-ute. Hallh'na!"

Trip raised his hands. "What do you want me to do?" he asked. He heard the voice of the Andorian, but couldn't figure out what he was saying. The soldier hit him full in the face, shouting with increasing volume. Trip hit the floor, tasting blood in his mouth.

From where he was on the floor, he heard a voice say "Put your hand on the device and say your name." The voice was dark, but warm and friendly and it took Trip a second to realize it had come from the direction of the Vulcan male.

Suddenly he became aware that one of the soldiers was holding out a device. In the heat and fear of the moment he hadn't seen it. He managed to get up and did as he was told. Trip realized that, given the nature of his mission, he couldn't give his real name. He searched for names for a few seconds, while the soldier holding the device started to grumble softly in impatience. Trip didn't know if it came from the pregnant woman next to him or that he wanted to be called by a hopeful name that reminded him of T'Pol, but before he knew it he said "Rokel. My name is Rokel."

That seemed to please the soldiers. They tied his hands together, but he was allowed to take a few steps. Trip was so glad he could finally feel the blood circulation in his legs and feet. He noticed that the Andorian, the Tellerite and the Vulcan couple were observing his every move, but stayed silent. The soldiers also didn't speak, just grabbed him again and held him still to scan him from all sides. Then they locked his feet again in the block and left. He was alone again with the other prisoners.

He turned to the Vulcan who helped him. "Who are they?" he asked.

"Valakian soldiers," the man replied.

"I thought they were going to hurt me. Thank you all for helping me out," Trip said. "You seemed to have taking quit a beating yourself."

"It's nothing," the Vulcan answered, his eyes shifting to the female next to him.

"Is your wife all right?" Trip asked the man, assuming the woman didn't speak English. For a second Trip saw the face of the man change, bowing his head slightly and staring to a point on the floor in the Vulcan expression of shame. Then he looked up again. "The mother of my child is hurt, but she says it's manageable. The child is in good health."

He straightened his back and adjusted his position. "You have an original name for a komihn," the Vulcan man remarked almost causally.

Trip didn't take the bait. "Thank you. What's your name?"

The Vulcan introduced himself as V'Ran. The Andorian joined in and said his name was Skrov. The Tellarite muttered his name, Gel. The female understood what was being discussed. She smiled and said "Mita". She had a beautiful, melodic voice.

"V'Ran, are those Valakians working for the Orions? What are they planning with us?" Trip wanted to know.

The three men stared back at him, clearly not understanding his question. "The Valakians are Romulan soldiers," Skrov explained slowly.

"But the Orions attacked my ship!" Trip exclaimed. "Did they sell me to the Romulans?"

"We have no knowledge of that, Rokel," V'Ran answered calmly. "We are all Romulan slaves. We have been sentenced, and our masters have been kind enough to send us to the Farel moon instead of having the executioner end our lives."

"We are going to a moon? What's there?" Trip tried to find answers.

"It's a Romulan mining facility,'' V'Ran explained. "Cold as ice, dark like a pit. You're going to work as a slave in the mines."

Trip swallowed. A slave on a Romulan planet. How was he ever going to finish his mission to prove T'Pol's innocence? And how was he ever going to get home?


	5. Dilithium

_Summary: Trip is sent on secret mission in order to help Archer and T'Pol._

_Against T'Pol several accusations of treason have been made. On his way to his destination, Trip is caught by Orions and sold as slave. He ends up with the Andorian Skrov, the Tellerite Gel and the Vulcans V'Ran and Mita, prisoners who are sentenced to work in a Romulan mining facility at Farel Moon. _

_**A/N**: _Thanks to my awesome beta EntAllat and to my readers for their kind reviews.

**Disclaimer**: see first chapter.

* * *

**Part One**

_Grey._ They were enclosed by the gray walls of the shuttle, packed into a corner. Trip had been standing here, together with 40 other prisoners, from the moment their journey to Farel Moon had started. There was barely any space between them. It was crowed and warm, and the odor of body sweat was hard to ignore. Trip could hardly move. On top of that the collar around his neck was irritating his skin and he had developed a strange rash behind his ear that was itching terribly. And he was thirsty.

Luckily for him, V'Ran and Skrov were standing behind him. Two times Trip had felt his legs buckle beneath him but, before he could fall to the hard floor, he had felt Skrov's and V'Ran's hands grab him. "Hold on, Terran," Skrov had commented. "Please remain standing, Rokel," the warm voice of V'Ran had added.

Next to Trip was Mita. The Vulcan woman reminded him of T'Pol. He missed T'Pol, beyond words and the mysterious disappearance of feeling her and their bond made him feel empty, lonely and lost.

Even in his miserable state, he couldn't help being intrigued by Mita. Her Vulcan features were as delicate as T'Pol and she came across as confident and calm, but her open expression and her smile gave away the fact that she had a totally different background than most Vulcans. Her bulging belly reminded Trip of the fact that she was pregnant as well. He and T'Pol had wanted a child so badly and their last failed attempt still weighed heavy on his mind. Seeing Mita – a mother to be – caused a pang of pain and regret in Trip's heart. It also made him to want to support Mita even more; he knew she'd had a hard time, standing all day, in her pregnant state in such a crowded space full of smelly men.

One time he had seen her face turn very pale. V'Ran had asked if she was all right and Trip had taken her hand very quickly and squeezed it. It seemed to help - the color returned to Mita's face. "_Pa'Farel aikum,_" he had told her in his best Vulcan. _We are almost at Farel Moon_. If that was actually true, he had no idea, but she had given him a warm smile. "_Veh-t-ved_," she answered. _Only one day to go._

Trip had lost all sense of time, so he didn't really know if the journey would take another day. But after what seemed like an eternity, Trip felt the shuttle descend. The prisoners around him started to murmur and a sense of excitement filled the group. Their journey had finally ended.

The door of the shuttle opened. Trip heard a howling wind screeching around the shuttle. The Valakian guards, who had been sitting the entire journey, phasers ready to shoot a prisoner if they felt like it, called for attention. They divided the prisoners into groups of five and, one by one, they were ordered to leave the shuttle. Trip was on the first group, together with Mita.

As soon as Trip jumped out of the shuttle and felt the stony ground beneath him, grains of gray dust flew into his face, causing a mild burning sensation. His eyes started to tear. He blinked and stared in front of him. Trip realized the air was filled with grey flakes, swirling around. It was like walking into a snowstorm. "Run," the guards, protected by the masks they were wearing, screamed. Trip started running forward, followed by Mita. For a second Trip only saw gray dots in front of him, but then he saw the outline of a shed. This was their new home.

The doors of the old house opened and Trip and his group walked into a hallway that held a large table on one side. A couple of gray uniforms lay neatly folded on the table. The guards ordered Trip and his companions to take their clothes off and put on the uniforms.

His clothes had become covered with the flakes, creating gray dots all over his overalls. On closer inspection, Trip could see that they weren't really flakes, but particles of a shimmery material. Before placing his clothes on the floor, Trip quickly held them close to his nose and inhaled. The particles smelled familiar; they had a dilithium-like scent.

Trip quickly took off the rest of his clothes, until he was standing in his Starfleet blue underwear. He felt his medallion under his shirt, almost glued to his skin. It was his IDIC - a necklace with a triangle shaped hanger that had belonged to T'Pol's father. Trip had kept this Vulcan jewelry on him since the day he married T'Pol.

A guard walked towards him, making Trip nervous that he would discover the IDIC.

However, the guard didn't look at him. Instead, he just grabbed Trip behind his neck, forced him down and pushed a few buttons at Trip's collar. Then he handed Trip a uniform. Under the impatient eye of the guard, Trip hurried to dress himself in the uniform, after which the guard held out the hand-shaped device that was used for identification. Trip's heart was pounding as he muttered his name: "Rokel".

Trip's entire group had their collars modified and were dressed in the grey outfits, before they were guided to their new living quarters. There they waited until the entire group had arrived. Trip was relieved to see V'Ran, Skrov and Gel among them.

Their new home was built of brick walls. The first room they entered had only one window and a stone floor. Two doors – set far apart from each other – were to be seen, suggesting adjoining areas. Several identification devices hung on the walls. The area was filled with metallic bunk beds, one bed at the bottom, one on top, and the beds were set in rows of four in a line. On each of them a perfectly folded blanket was found. There was a sink and a water tap. Next to those was a device that seemed to function as a stove, though it was hardly working; the room felt cold and damp.

One guard, about the same size as Trip, with brown eyes, black hair and the familiar Valakian ridges around his face, appeared to be in charge. Stern, yet calm looking, he ordered the prisoners to stand in lines. V'Ran quickly translated for Trip what the guard said. _"I am Sub-commander Hinan. Welcome to Farel Moon, workers. As property of the Romulan Empire you will work in the mines. Our rules must be obeyed." _Hinan stared sharply at the faces of the new prisoners before him. _"The other workers will be back soon. You will join them for the evening meal in the mess hall and return here. Tomorrow you will hear the alarm. Report at once to one of the identification devices. After your breakfast you will assemble in front of the living quarters. From there you will be transported to the mines and, after work, back to the workers area."_

Hinan took out a PADD and called out their names. A prisoner would step forward to be assigned to his sleeping place. Trip discovered every bed had a metal plate attached to it. Each prisoner stooped and moved his collar in front of the plate to scan the collar.

Shrov and Gel's beds were in the middle of the room, but the ones belonging to Trip, V'Ran and Mita were at the end of the sleeping area. Mita crawled under the blanket of her bed, the lines in her face indicating how tired she was. V'Ran had the bunk adjoining hers. V'Ran took his blanket off his bed and covered Mita gently with it. She smiled at him and protested, giving him his blanket back.

Mita was right; it was too cold to be without blanket. But Trip had seen the stove, and it could be fixed. Trip hid the dilithium particles under his blanket and stepped towards one of the guard. He gestured with his hands that he would like to fix the stove.

The guard didn't get angry, but simply growled and gestured back that Trip could start working. Trip found a dustpan and a small brush near the stove and cleaned the stove, so that he could reach the airflow opening. He continued working on it as long as the guards were in the room. As soon as Hinan and his men stepped out the door with the changing of the guards, Trip quickly walked to his bed and retrieved the dilithium particles. He placed them in the stove and pressed the button for fire. As he had expected, the stove came to life, spreading warmth across the room.

From a distance, Trip could see Skrov observing him work, obviously pleased at what he saw. Gel yelled from his place, "Are you finally being useful, Terran?"

Returning to his bed, Trip saw Mita give him a thankful look. V'Ran gave him a short Vulcan nod of approval. A warm feeling filled Trip's heart, easing the pain of missing T'Pol and being away from home. He had made some friends. He would need those if he ever wanted to escape. Until then, he knew he needed to keep a low profile and stay out of trouble.

* * *

**Part Two**

_Gray._ Trouble waited for Trip as soon as gray faced Nausicaan laid eyes on him in the dinner hall. It was dark, and he and his fellow prisoners, tired and hungry after a long day of hard work, had returned. Guided by the guards, they all moved directly to the adjoining dining hall. Trip was waiting in line, his plate now filled with a watery substance, looking for a place to sit on one of the benches that were placed in front of the tables.

The Nausicaan, a tall, gray looking man, with the reconcilable spikes running down his forehead ridges, passed him. He gave Trip a nasty look and screamed "Terran!" at him. Trip decided to not respond and walked through, but was stopped once again by the Nausicaan. He shoved Trip into the nearest wall, causing Trip's plate to fall on the floor.

The big Nausicaan growled at him, showing his brownish teeth. With one movement he punched Trip in the stomach. It all happened so fast. Trip saw four more Nausicaans join the first one, each more yellow and pinkish in color, with big, mean smiles on their ugly faces. One of them grabbed Trip by the upper arm, holding him, while the first Nausicaan got ready to hit him. With all his strength Trip managed to free himself from the iron grip and tried to escape.

He didn't get far; he heard a deep growl behind him and big hands snatched his collar and dragged him to the wall again. Trip stared into the eyes of mad men, his face so close he could smell thier bad breath. The big guy's fists started to pound him, kicking and hitting him wherever he could. The big guy's friends cheered with every blow.

Trip attempted to suppress the pain and then fight back, relying on memories of Malcolm's combat training. He avoided some hits, blocked a few blows and started to punch back. Trip's breathing became erratic as he gave all he had in fighting this man. At one point, his opponent let out a scream and banged his head against Trip's. At the same time, one of the other Nausicaans kicked Trip against his left knee and he lost his balance. Before he knew it, Trip was on the floor, the strong hands of the Nausicaan around his neck with an iron grip, chocking him.

Trip struggled to breath. His hands tried to push his attacker away, but the Nausicaan held him down and tightened his grip on his throat. Trip started sweating as he fought to get some air, when suddenly the hands of the Nausicaan lost all their strength. Air filled his longs again and Trip inhaled deeply.

He got up, finding the Nausicaan collapsed in a heap on the floor and V'Ran standing over his body. Trip noticed the Nausicaan had a deep purple mark in his neck, and surmised that V'Ran had given him a neck pinch to knock him down. Gel and Skrov had placed themselves between Trip and the group of other Nausicaan, looking angry at them. One of the guards, who had done nothing to stop the fight, stepped forward and whispered something the Nausicaans. The Nausicaans looked in the direction of V'Ran. One of them muttered a response, before they all moved along, leaving Trip alone.

"Come," V'Ran told Trip and led him to a place at one of the tables. Without a word, Trip followed V'Ran and sat down, still feeling the tension and rush of the fight. He had several bruises on his hands and neck and he felt a head wound that was bleeding. He wiped the blood away with his hands.

Mita brought him a new plate with food. Trip's hands shook slightly as he started eating. If V'Ran hadn't intervened, he wouldn't have survived. "Thank you," he said to the Vulcan who sat opposite of him. V'Ran looked up from his plate, his dark brown eyes briefly on him. "Eat, Rokel," V'Ran replied, "Food will give you strength."

But it wasn't the food that gave Trip strength. It was the thought that his newfound friends were willing to protect him against enemies in this place.

* * *

**Part Three**

_Gray._ Trip followed the line of prisoners, all dressed in their gray uniforms as they made their way back into the mines. Every day at 5 a.m., it was time to work in the mines. The prisoners worked with a small hand drive to remove the ore from the hard walls. When Trip started working, his fingers were half frozen and he cut himself several times, but he soon he got the technique under control and was successful in retrieving the ore.

During the long hours, his mind wandered off to the events that had led him to Farel Moon. He had so many questions: _How had the Orions had been able to attack a cloaked vessel? Why did they sell him to the Romulans?_ He remembered, while he had been barely consciousness on the Orion ship, that he had heard the voice of an elderly female. Her tone of voice had been so familiar, like a memory of the past, but he couldn't put a name to it.

The most important question for him was why he couldn't feel the bond? _Had something happened to T'Pol? Had Starfleet Intelligence arrested her based on the accusations made against her?_ He hadn't thought so when he first felt this mental connection between him and T'Pol, but now he felt so incomplete and empty without the sweet buzzing presence of the bond with his wife in his mind.

To get answers he needed to escape from this moon. His first goal was to gather as much information as possible about this facility. Trip had noticed that the prisoners didn't talk much to each other. He suspected it had to do with the collars – it was obviously a monitoring device - that every worker was wearing and which allowed the guards to keep a close eye on them. The tunnels of the mines offered a little bit more freedom, because the guards seemed to avoid those.

So Trip counted himself lucky when he was assigned to work with Gel in one of the more remote tunnels of the mine. Gel spoke Trip's language and turned out be a wealth of information. In English with a strong Tellarite accent and colored by the occasional Tellerite insults, he told Trip that Farel Moon was a very old mining facility of the Romulans, now guarded by Valakians. Only three months ago two old tunnels had caved in and one month later an earthquake had damaged several other tunnels. The death toll had been enormous.

"So you understand why the guards don't like to come here," Gel told him. "It's also the reason why all the new slaves and convicted criminals are sent here - to make up for lost production." Gel turned to Trip and grinned. "I can see from your ugly face that you want to know if I am a slave or some criminal." He held up his hand drill, placed it on the hard wall and retrieved a small piece of dilithium. Holding the crystal between his thumb and finger he said, "I am a honest smuggler, Rokel. Romulans leave the death penalty to the more serious crimes. They say a man who can use his hand for stealing, can better use that talent in the mines."

Gel's past as a dilithium smuggler wasn't the only discovery Trip made that day. In the late hours of the day, as Trip and Gel had finished their work and were making their way back, Trip saw the group of Nausicaans again. He felt nervous and prepared to defend himself again, but they only gave him and Gel a dirty look and kept on walking, without starting a fight.

Trip was stunned. He had tasted the rage and the madness of the Nausicaan group first hand. Every day he had feared he would run into them again, without his friends to help him during the fight.

He nodded in the direction of the Nausicaans and whispered to Gel as they continued walking "Did you see that? I can't believe it. They don't seem the types to give up messing with us after one fight."

Gel gave him a peculiar look. "It would be foolish to underestimate them, Rokel," he answered in a low voice. "I think they remember what the guard told them."

Trip remembered that the guard had made a remark about V'Ran. "What did he say? Was it about V'Ran?" he asked Gel softly.

"Yes," Gel answered. "He said that V'Ran killed a man with his bare hands. Nausicaans have great respect for a man of violence."

"V'Ran didn't kill him. He only knocked him unconscious," Trip replied. "I just saw my attacker, he looks fine."

Gel inhaled deeply through his nostrils. "That's not what the guard meant. V'Ran is convicted of murder."

Trip stared at Gel in disbelief. Gel's sober expression convinced him that the Tellarite had told the truth.

At least, that was the truth from Gel's point of view. Truth was a hard commodity at Farel Moon and Trip wondered what had really happened with V'Ran. He himself and maybe many others in this place were innocent of any crime and yet were treated as prisoners and slaves. Wouldn't the murder charges against V'Ran also be unjust?

V'Ran was the same man that just a few days ago had saved his life. The Nausicaans would have killed him if not V'Ran had prevented it. He had taken a great risk for Trip, an alien and a stranger he'd had met only a few days before. V'Ran had been a friend to him and in the past few days Trip had come to respect the elderly Vulcan. In his own distinguished way, V'Ran helped the others and quietly cared for Mita, the woman who carried his child.

Trip had a hard time digesting this bit of news, and then a thought occurred to him. "I thought the punishment for murder under Romulan law is the death penalty," he said.

"It is," Gel answered. "I don't know why he was spared. V'Ran was a servant slave for decades for one of the most important family on Hetaria. That's a Romulan colony. I lived there for a couple of years. V'Ran was well respected, but when he told the authorities he had killed a man, they arrested him. We all thought he was going to be executed. The story is that Mita came to his defense and explained the circumstances of the murder. She was allowed to speak in the House of Justice because she had that right as a widow of a Romulan. I was still surprised they let her, because she is known as a _Kirakite_ and the Romulans hate them." Gel inhaled through his nose again. "I don't know what Mita said, but it worked. V'Ran got away with a life sentence."

Trip always had been curious about Mita's background, since she appeared to be Vulcan, but showed her emotions much more than a Vulcan would. "What's a _Kirakite_?" he asked.

"_Kirakites _are pacifistic idiots, trouble-makers," Gel said. "They are mostly slaves and low ranking people in Romulan society. You can't call them a threat, although some Romulan military think that way."

Trip wanted to ask more, but Gel and he passed by another tunnel. Crowds of people came out and joined them as they headed towards the main road. "No more questions," Gel whispered. Trip got the hint.

That night, Trip was lying on his bunk bed, wrapped in his gray blanket, cold and still hungry. The tonight's special had been a flavorless rice soup. All the other prisoners had returned to their beds and were now sleeping.

But sleep didn't come for Trip as the discussion of the day kept his mind occupied. Trip's bed was close to V'Ran, so he had seen every day how the Vulcan meditated. By his marriage and bond to T'Pol he had noticed that the Vulcan body language spoke louder than words. Often during meditating V'Ran had been restless, opening his eyes and closing them. Sometimes V'Ran would stare into nothing and bow his head in that Vulcan way that indicated shame. Now Trip understood why.

In a way, V'Ran reminded Trip of T'Pol, who had struggled with the memory of lives lost during her command at Azati Prime and during the Romulan war. She had been the only Vulcan fighting alongside Humans, because as she put it – the times were extreme. Trip remembered that conversation as it had been yesterday.

_It had been the day Ensign McRae died. The ship had been under attack and Engineering had taken a serious hit. A fire had started and Trip had ordered everyone to leave. His crewmates had rushed out; he had sealed off Engineering and put the fire extinguishers on. Communication was off line, so he ordered his second in command, Rostov to take the more seriously injured to sickbay. He had noticed one crewmember was missing, one of his new ensigns, Lindsey McRae. She was a red haired woman with the same brown-greenish eye color as T'Pol and a wicked sense of humor. No one had seen her. _

_But time was running out and he had to monitor the warp core and get the emergency generators on line. After Enterprise had successfully shaken off the Romulan attack, Trip had returned to Engineering. The fire had died out, but Engineering was full of smoke, and dust. In the midst of it lay the body of a young woman. She was seriously burned. Ensign McRae. Later, Phlox had told him that Lindsey had suffered from severe head trauma, which,h in combination with inhaling the fumes, had caused her death. _

_Lindsey had been placed under his responsibility and under his watch – and she had died._

_That night, even with T'Pol's warm body curled next to him, he hadn't been able sleep. Depression, no stranger for him, was lurking in the darkness. Eyes wide open, he saw in his mind the people he had lost, people he had felt responsible for. _

_There had been Charles, the Cognitor, in his early days on Enterprise. Trip only had wanted to be a friend to Charles and let her enjoy all the simple pleasures of life, like books and music, which she seemed to be very interested in. When Charles was denied asylum and killed herself, they weren't words to describe how terrible he had felt. The words of Jon – spoken out of anger and frustration - that Trip was responsible for Charles's death, had wounded Trip deeply. For months he had struggled behind the doors of his quarters with overwhelming feelings of quilt, until, finally, he found some peace. _

_There had been his sister, Lizzie, who died in the Xindi attack. Her death had made insomnia return. Bitterly he had fought the Xindi until, with the help of T'Pol, he was able to let go of his anger and pain. He still missed his baby-sister. _

_There had been his daughter. He had loved her from first sight. She was the most amazing little girl in the world. When she died, he had felt like he, her father, had failed to protect her and part of him had died too. There wasn't a day that he didn't think of her. _

_Now there was Lindsey. There wasn't anything he could have done for her. But he struggled with deep feelings of guilt that this young woman under his command had died in such a horrible way. _

_T'Pol had stirred next to him. "You can't sleep?" she had asked softly._

"_Yeah," he had answered. _

_She had laid her small hand on his chest in a gesture of comfort. "I grieve with thee," T'Pol had said. _

_He had sighed. "It's probably not very logical to feel so responsible for Lindsey's death,"_

"_Maybe it's not logical," T'Pol had answered. "But it's very Human…and Vulcan."_

_He had looked at her, her beautiful eyes so close by. Trip knew how she had struggled with the death under her command at Azati Prime. He had sensed her deep and overwhelming grief when their daughter had died. _

"_We should mourn the persons who died." T'Pol had continued. "But don't let those emotions of grief consume you." Her words echoed what she had told him a long time ago in the Expanse as they had mourned Lizzie together_.

"_That's not all," he had answered, deciding he should tell her what had been on his mind lately. "Part of me is relieved I can still feel," he had told her bitterly. "There are so many people dying. Sometimes I am afraid that it will only take a little time before I don't feel for them anymore."_

_Trip knew he had hardened during the war – he couldn't command people in wartime without creating some distance, but he wasn't sure he liked this new Trip. But he had a promise to himself that he would remember his fallen comrades. He owed them that much._

"_Your feelings are your strength, Trip," T'Pol had answered, while her eyes never left his face. "You wouldn't lose them. They are part of you. It's what makes you Human, my Human."_

_He had smiled at her, his fingers touching her cheeks. "T'Pol. Have I ever told you how grateful I am that you stayed to fight with us in this rotten war that seems to have no end?"_

"_You're my mate," T'Pol had touched his arm in comfort. "I want to fight with you." She was silent for a moment. "Not that I don't hate the violence. Surak taught us to turn away from our violent nature and past. Life is sacred for animals and persons," she explained._

_Then she said the words that stayed with him and would help him during the years of war. "But there is a difference between mere violence and brutality and defending your family and friends and their freedom," she said. "Surak would say that there are extreme circumstances when it's only logic to act and strike back. For me, this war is such time." _

Maybe such a time had also had come for V'Ran.

A sound brought him back to the present. It was very soft, almost undetectable, but so different from the sound of sleeping males that he looked up. V'Ran and Mita were talking softly. Mita sat at the corner of V'Ran's bed and Trip saw V'Ran placed his hand on Mita's belly in a shy fashion. He quickly jerked his hand back, like he hardly dared to touch her. Mita gently nodded in encouragement.

It was such a personal moment, that Trip turned his head and closed his eyes, still seeing the scene in his mind. Whatever had happened and whatever V'Ran had done, it had to be out of protecting Mita.

* * *

**Part Four**

_Gray._ The morning looked as gray as usual as Trip stood up, stiff from sleeping on the hard bed. He went through his daily routine, pressing his hands against the indication device, getting in line for his breakfast and being pushed into a vehicle for his trip to the mines. Since the day Gel had told him about V'Ran, Trip had been assigned to other teams. Today he expected to work with the same small green-faced male as yesterday, but to his surprise, Mita joined him.

Mita's delicate fingers firmly gripped the drill as she produced one small piece of ore after another. "_Vohris_._" _Trip said to her, gesturing at her bulging belly as he saw how hard she worked without taking a break. _Slow down._ Mita responded with a friendly smile, said "_T'hank you,"_ in her best English and continued at the same pace, fully focused on her task.

Trip was surprised Mita knew a little bit of English and the rest of the day they spoke to each other in a mixture of simple Vulcan and English words. At the end of the day, Mita pointed to Trip's ear and said slowly in Vulcan "You have a rash behind your ear." He nodded, glad he understood all what she had said. He first had felt he had a rash during his transport to the Farel Moon, because of the terrible itch it caused. In the last few days his skin behind his ear had felt swollen and had started to burn.

The next sentence that Mita spoke was more difficult to comprehend, but he understood the words "swollen" and "rash" and "worry".

Trip shook his head. "Not to worry, Mita. It's just a rash," he reassured her.

Mita didn't look convinced, but as they both resumed their work, she didn't bring it up again.

That night, after he was asleep, someone woke him by pulling at his arm. Startled, he opened his eyes and saw Mita standing by his bed, joined by V'Ran. "Mita is convinced that the rash behind your ear is caused by an insect. If not treated, you can become seriosuly ill," was the first thing the Vulcan said.

Trip rose to a sitting position. It was strange to speak with V'Ran again, after he had heard the news of his past. Keeping his voice down he answered calmly, "I wasn't bitten by an insect." He pointed to the spot behind his ear. "It all started with a sort of patch. I can't get if off." V'Ran translated Trip's words to Mita. He explained that the patch had been given to as a means of communication device.

The patch had perfect same color as his skin and had been affixed to his skin; he hardly could feel it himself. He guessed it could only be seen very close by, so the guards hadn't noticed it.

Mita asked him if she could see the patch. He agreed nd bended his ear forward, so she would have a better look. Mita examined the rash and moved her small fingers on the spot of the patch. She murmured a few words, which sounded if she was concerned.

"_Rovotkau,_" she said slowly.

"What's _rovotkau_?" Trip struggled to pronounce the alien name.

"An insect," Mita answered in Vulcan. She frowned slightly and quickly she started to tell him her observations, her tone of voice of that of a professional doctor. V'Ran translated her every word. "Your patch looks like the inner casing for the _rovotkau_ insect. I have seen it before. When the casing is placed against the skin, it opens and the insect infiltrates into your body, more specifically your brain. It will leave a poison that will have a paralyzing effect on your _qui'lari_."

"Poison? In my brain? What's a _qui'lari_?" Trip asked, suddenly concerned.

"The focal points of the bioelectric field of the brain," Mita told him. "The poison of the _rovotkau_ is used to block certain connections in the brain of a Vulcan. It's a very effective method, mostly used in war times by enemies. I have never seen it used on other species."

"I have a bug in my brain?" Trip tried very hard to contain his horror. "Are you sure? How do you know so much of this?"

"I was a doctor in medicine and an entomologist in a former life," Mita answered, but before she could continue talking, a guard opened the door. It would only take a few seconds before the guard would discover them talking, so Mita and V'Ran rushed back to their beds and pretended to be sleeping.

A day passed before V'Ran and Mita dared to speak with him again. Trip had a hard time believing Mita's disturbing story of an insect in his brain. He told Mita that the patch was given to him. "It attached my skin right away. I felt a burning sensation and after that, I was disorientated."

"Normal symptoms, Rokel," Mita remarked. "Did something else happen? Did you notice something was off?"

It suddenly hit him. He had lost T'Pol at that moment. The bond had gone missing. Trip felt so stupid for not realizing it before. It wasn't T'Pol's fault, or his; they had been manipulated.

He hesitated to tell Mita and V'Ran of his discovery. He always had kept his bond with T'Pol secret. Only recently the Vulcans in his part of the universe had discovered their Vulcan heritage, like the bond. Would Mita and V'Ran understand?

His gut was telling him it was important to tell them. "Have you heard of the bond – of the _Kah-ka_?" he asked them.

V'Ran gave him a strange look and answered before Mita could. "The _Kah-ka_ is a bond between a Vulcan couple, Rokel," he said. "I didn't know that Terran couples have bonds."

"My wife is Vulcan," he said. V'Ran raised an eyebrow and Mita smiled. "That would explain a great deal," she said, sounding very pleased. "Does your infection interfere with the bond?"

"It disappeared," Trip whispered and he heard his own despair in his words. "Right after I got the device. Can you help me?"

"I can't use modern methods here. But there is an old and rather primitive procedure, using certain herbs and other botanical ingredients. The material for this we can find in the medical facility. It will neutralize the poison," Mita told him. "One of the side effects would be that the _rovotkau_ dies as well."

Mita gave him an earnest look. "It's not an easy method. There is a two percent chance the _rovotkau_ will not die, but instead mutate and that only the poison will be neutralized. Most Vulcans get sick using this method." She hesitated, but then added "Vulcan metabolism seems to be much stronger than Terrans, so prepare for the worst, Rokel."

Trip was convinced of the seriousness of his situation. His communication with T'Pol had been sabotaged and if he ever wanted to escape, he needed the bond back. "I don't care – you do whatever it takes, Mita," he answered.

Mita tried to contact the assistant of the moon's medical facility. Later, as Trip was sitting at his table in the mess hall, surrounded by the din of pans, plates and cutlery, yelling cooks and people walking around and finding their places, V'Ran and Skrov came to sit next to him. V'Ran had a message from Mita. The assistant was willing to give the necessary ingredients for the antidote – but for a price. "He wanted something of value in exchange for the material," V'Ran explained. "That's hard to find."

For the first time doubts entered Trip's mind. Trip indeed had something of great value that he didn't want to lose_. Would he risk his precious memories of his life with T'Pol - because of fantastic diagnosis by a woman he hardly knew?_

"Mita is right, Rokel," Skrov interrupted his thoughts. Skrov took another bite of the stale bread in front of him, swallowed it and continued, "Mita's a good doctor. She helped me when one of my antennas got infected."

Trip touched the irritated spot behind his ear. He recalled Peterson's words, then the symptoms he had experienced after attaching the patch behind his ear. Trip remembered how the bond had gone missing. He reached down his shirt. With pain in his heart, he pulled off his IDIC and gave it to V'Ran. "This will be enough."

V'Ran took the medallion and admired the Vulcan jewelry in the shape of his hand. "What a beautiful _da ek'zura_, Rokel. It's a family piece, isn't it?" V'Ran closed his hand, making it into a fist and reached out to return the medallion. "Keep it. We will find another way. This is much too valuable to give away," he said.

"You're right," Trip answered, "but it's the only way to get the antidote." _And my only way to get T'Pol back._

With the help of the medical assistant, Mita was able to collect the material she needed and made it into a smelly juice that Trip had to drink. He felt terrible after doing so, suffering from intensive migraine attacks. He was hardly able to eat. Meanwhile, he was expected to work in the mines as usual. To make things worse, there was no sign the bond was returning. He felt depressed, thinking he had lost the IDIC for nothing. He feared he would walk around with this insect in his head forever.

His symptoms got worse. One moment he was as cold as the ice around him, the next his body was on fire. But change was coming.

It started with a very vivid dream of T'Pol - about the morning after their wedding day. Everything was just like it had been and it had felt so terribly real, until he woke up and saw V'Ran's face. After that dream his body felt as if was getting worse, but he could tell that his mind was getting stronger.

A couple of days later, Mita told him that she was worried about his condition. "The treatment isn't complete yet and would be less effective if we stop now, but maybe it is better we do," she said.

"Do I need more treatment?" he asked.

"Yes," Mita answered in her straightforward manner. "But you're already very sick; you're taking a great risk if we continue."

"I'm stronger than you think, Mita," Trip replied. "Just get on with it."

So Mita went on with the treatment. Trip became sicker than he ever had been in his life. He couldn't get up any more and just lay there on his bed. He felt like he was burning inside, streams of sweat poured from him. Even his bones ached. As the hours went on, he developed such a pounding headache that he had to bite on a piece of wood to prevent himself from screaming. It was followed by long waves of nausea and violent shaking; he couldn't stop his body from moving. He went out and in of consciousness, lights flickered on and off. Vaguely he heard the alarm go off, before he lost awareness all together.

He woke up. His head was still spinning, but he realized he wasn't in the worker area any more. It smelled like Phlox's sickbay. He heard a loud voice and felt a hypospray placed against his neck. Then a male voice told him to open his mouth. Pills were shoved in. Trip swallowed his medicine and closed his eyes.

The next thing he knew, he was walking in a strange landscape with gray clouds and gray particles that fell from the sky. The particle storm became heaver as he walked along; however, the storm in his body had ceased to exist. He experienced a peace he hadn't felt in a long time. It was like a part of him that had been missing had returned and made him whole again.

As he walked further, it seemed like more and more particles were falling, blurring his view. Vaguely he could distinguish a figure in the distance. When he was closer he could see it was a woman. She was sitting, her legs crossed and staring into a flame of a candle in front of her. She was wearing a gray sweater and jogging pants. The gray flakes from the heavens poured down on her.

"T'Pol!" Trip called out.

* * *

**Part Five**

_**Earth – San Francisco – The guest room in Amanda Cole's apartment.**_

_Gray._ Her white space was grayer and darker than it used to be. For a second time, T'Pol opened her eyes and promptly shut them again.

Meditation didn't come easily. She was in a guest room in Amanda Cole's apartment, dressed in an old sweater and jogging pants that belonged to Cole. It still smelled of the Human woman. T'Pol had come here a few days ago when she had left her own home, so quickly that she hadn't taken any of her own clothes with her. Malcolm Reed had suggested Cole's place and T'Pol had agreed. No one would think to look here for here.

But it hadn't been easy. Years of suppressing her emotions had helped her to interact with Cole in a most neutral fashion. She was grateful that Cole had offered them a hiding place, but if she was honest, T'Pol knew her emotions were always were stirred when Cole was around.

Years ago, T'Pol had been devoured by jealousy, thinking of Trip and Cole together. Cole was Human, brought up in the same geographical area as Trip, confident, beautiful, and intelligent - all qualities Trip liked. It had been one of her darkest and most shameful periods in T'Pol's life. Her emotions and long hidden feelings for Trip had spiraled out of her control. T'Pol had become an addict, weak, caught up in the consuming fire of jealousy that had flamed so high that logic had left her. Blindly, she had claimed Trip. Not that she regretted that Trip was her mate - nothing could be further from the truth - but her actions had caused harm to others, emotional pain for herself and Trip, who she loved.

But it would be foolish to let history impair her actions now. In the past few days, T'Pol had come to acknowledge that Amanda Cole wasn't without logic. Amanda had suggested that the best way to handle T'Pol's situation was to return to Starfleet and face whatever charges were made against her. Cole was right, hiding had no purpose and T'Pol needed to know what was going on in order to defend herself.

One thing had stopped T'Pol from doing so: Trip's death.

She felt sick and lonely without Trip. One moment she was almost drowning in grief over his death, the other moment torn apart by doubts that Trip really was gone. Headaches plagued her daily, as she obsessively searched every data available of the day of Trip's accident.

She had found too many disturbing things, such as several carefully erased data files. The most unnerving piece of data had been the discovery of a very well hidden signature trail. It indicated that, during the time Trip had been in sickbay, someone had been transported from that location out of _Enterprise._ Nothing indicated that any organic matter floating in space, so that someone had to have been transported to a vessel. Her best idea was a ship that had been cloaked.

All of this had raised so many questions that she knew she needed to analyze the data further. She couldn't do this while being investigated herself.

In her mind she had developed the outlines of a hypothesis. She knew that Trip would tell her if he went on a secret mission. What if those criminals that Shran was involved with had kidnapped Trip? Or maybe the Orions - who were very active in Coalition space at that moment – had taken him? Trip was a prominent member of Starfleet. Everyone would think they could demand a huge ransom sum for him. The only problem with this theory was that she was certain that the captain would have told her if that was the case. He wouldn't have told her Trip was dead. The captain had been her friend and Trip's friend for more than a decade. Why would he tell her lies about Trip? Surely he would know that the truth always would come out and that telling her the facts was far more logical? But then again, why had the captain prevented her from seeing Trip's body?

T'Pol took a deep breath. She needed more facts, more hard evidence and she would only find them if she could focus. Meditation would help her. She resettled herself and looked into the flame of the candle in front of her once again. Soon she was back in her white space, only to find the gray clouds again. She pressed on. It worked. The flame became lighter; it shined brighter before her and her head became clearer. She felt that tension left her body and her _katra_ came to rest.

She had just begun the second stage of meditation as she heard a soft swooping sound. T'Pol opened her eyes. Her white space was filled with gray particles raining down on her. It was like sitting in a snowstorm full of silvery dust flakes. She never had experienced this before in her white space. It was most… Trip-like. Only with him around, would such oddities happen in her white space. Against all logic, her heart felt a spark of hope.

She heard footsteps behind her. "T'Pol!" she heard Trip's voice say.

She turned around and saw Trip standing there. His face was ash gray, his body thinner than before, but his eyes had that famous spark and he was so very much alive. She ran to him, but his arms were already around her and a wave of joy filled her mind. "You're back," she whispered.

She saw tears running down Trip's face. In all the time she had lived with this Human, only twice she had seen him cry openly – when they had mourned together – for his sister and her namesake, their daughter. Now, again, he had a hard time controlling his emotions. "I can feel you again," he said with a hoarse voice. "I can feel you again in my head." He kissed her full on the mouth. "I love you, baby," he started, "I love you. I probably haven't said it enough when we together, but I love you. The world is hell without you."

"As is mine," she answered. "I thought you were dead."

Trip pulled her closer. "I am alive and I am never letting you go," he said. "Never."

She folded her arms around him and warmed herself in his embrace, deprived as she had been of his affection for a long time.

She searched his face, drinking in every line.

"Find me," Trip urged her as his crystal blue eyes bored into hers.

And she would find him and be with him – no matter what the costs or the dangers would be.


	6. Silverbirds

_Summary of the story thus far:_ When Trip goes on a secret mission his vessel is attacked. At the last minute Trip is transported to another ship and sold as a slave to the Romulans. He meets four other prisoners, the Vulcans V'Ran and Mita, who is pregnant, the Tellerite Gel and the Andorian Skrov. He introduces himself as Rokel. As they work in a mining facility, Mita discovers that someone has planted an alien insect called a _rovotkau _behind Trip's ear for the purpose of blocking his bond with T'Pol. The treatment for his insect infestation makes Trip very ill, but in the end he is able to meet T'Pol in their white space.

**A/N**: Thank you, readers and reviewers, for your patience! I also want to thank Distracted for her excellent work as a beta.

The part about Jon's youth was inspired by the information about his father's illness. Trip mentions in this chapter "the meaning of his official Earth name". The name Charles means "human" or "male".

This story is a sequel to _The Captives_. The evil genius in that story was Senator Tenson, Starfleet Liaison for Vulcan Affairs, who turned out to be a Romulan spy. In this chapter she returns to the stage.

**Disclaimer:** see first chapter

* * *

**Part one**

**37 years ago….**

– **2124 – Saint Mary's Medical Center, San Francisco **

_Silver_ – The silvery painted door of his father's hospital room was closed. Emory, his father's friend who had gone with him to Saint Mary's, had told him he had to speak with the doctor and had asked Jon to wait for him in the waiting area. Jon had his favorite book, a copy of _The Cosmos: A to Z_, with him. He had already spent hours of staring at every picture of celestial objects in the book, but he still liked to go through the pages, trying to discover something new.

From his seat in the waiting area Jon had a good view of his father's room. He felt nervous. He loved Dad. He missed Dad. Dad was his hero. But would the person behind that silvery door today be his father or the stranger he sometimes became?

After his mother had died, his father had spent more time at home. Dad had been there at breakfast and when he came home from school. They had spent hours with their hobby, building models of spaceships. The best part was when they went to the beach nearby, when they tried to make the ship fly. Many times it worked, and the joy of that moment was followed by a ritual of drinking hot chocolate with marshmallows and eating French toast in Barney's, the cafeteria on the beach. When he went to bed, Dad came to tuck him in and they talked about school, friends, his mother, about what he wanted to be when he grew up.

But a year ago things had gone wrong. Dad sometimes forgot to tuck him in. Jon had waited for hours for him to come by before he finally fell asleep. Dad also forgot about Jon's school work. He complained about headaches. Jon could see his father was in a lot of pain, and there had been nothing he could do.

His father had started to act strange. He sometimes saw things that weren't there. One day he sang Christmas carols aloud and asked Jon if he had seen the Christmas tree his mother had decorated. Mom had died three years before and it was the middle of summer. Dad had meant it for real. More strange things happened, and deep inside Jon had become afraid.

Friends had told his father he needed to see a doctor. The doctor found out that Dad was very sick. A disease was destroying his brain. They told Jon this illness was the reason that his Dad sometimes saw things that weren't true. It wasn't his father talking. It was his disease. But whatever the doctors told him, it didn't make Jon feel any better.

Dad was admitted to the hospital. His pain and hallucinations became worse.

One time his father had been convinced that bugs were crawling on his blanket, rows and rows of bugs, eating his blanket. He had yelled to the nurse to chase them away. Another time his father started to scream that his room was on fire and to put the fire alarm on. He screamed and raved until the doctors sedated him.

The weirdest thing was his obsession that the Vulcans were out to kill him. A couple times his father had told him that the nurse – who was clearly human – was a Vulcan spy who wanted to poison him. Dad had begged Jon to ask the medical staff for a different nurse.

However disturbing it was to see Dad, his strong, wonderful father, raving like a lunatic, it was never as disturbing as his father being silent and cold and failing to recognize him. Those were the times when his "Hi Dad, it's me, Jonathan" was met with a cold stare and the words "I don't have a son. Who are you?"

Jon still shivered thinking about those events. He looked up to the closed door of his father's room. Every day he looked forward to visiting his father, but he was also afraid. Afraid of what kind of person he would find behind that silvery painted door: his loving father, or this stranger that looked like his father but acted so weird.

The door opened. Two people stepped out, a man and a young woman with long red hair. Jon was surprised. He didn't know his father had visitors. The couple smiled to each other. The man put his arm around her and they walked away. They just passed Emory, who gestured to him to come. Together they walked into his father's room.

The lines in his father's face showed that he was in agonizing pain. "Jon!" he whispered and he managed a smile. Dad and Jon talked for a while, and for Jon it felt like old times. He told his father that he and Emory had visited his new school. He looked forward to going there. When he was in the midst of explaining about the subjects he was going to have, all the sports he could do at his new school, and how the school had a great pool for swimming lessons and water polo, Dad suddenly turned to Emory and said "Hank Black and Ellen Tenson were here this morning. It was good to see them."

"Do I know them?" Emory asked. He hadn't said much before; he'd mostly let Jon and Dad talk.

"They're friends. Hank worked with me in the earlier stages of the warp project," Dad said. The soft features of his Dad's face suddenly changed into a grim mask. Jon hated that face. Dad got that fanatic look in his eyes. He bowed down to Jon and whispered to him "Hank and Ellen said it too. The Vulcans are our enemies. We should look for new allies."

"Good of them to visit, Henry," Emory said, ignoring his father's remark. Emory pushed him back to his pillow. "Would you like something to drink? I can ask the nurse for some juice."

Dad leaned back on the pillow, looking terribly pale. "That would be great, Emory," he answered, now with his normal voice. "And would you get this young man some hot chocolate?" Jon let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Dad acted normal again. He smiled at him and nodded. He'd rather have had a soda, but if Dad wanted to treat him to hot chocolate, he was going to enjoy it.

Emory got the drinks, and after they had consumed them they spent some time laughing and talking before he said goodbye to Dad. Dad had become more tired, and the pain was obvious in his eyes. When Jon hugged his father, he felt how skinny his father had become. Dad whispered the words to him that had been his goodbye since he had been admitted to the hospital. "Keep things straight and steady. Finish what you start. Embrace trust, not fear, Jonny." Jon wriggled himself out of his father's hug, said goodbye and left with Emory. At the silver door he stopped and waved at his Dad. Dad managed to lift his hand and waved back. His voice was hardly audible. "Bye, son."

It was one of the last times Jon saw his Dad. In a week's time his father's got worse and worse, and despite all the efforts of the doctors, Henry Archer, beloved father and friend, departed from this life, leaving his 12-year old son Jonathan Archer behind.

* * *

**Part two**

**-2161- Present time - Farel Moon – The moon on which Trip (under the name of Rokel) is held captive.**

Silver. It was a cold and clear night. The curtains were open; through the two windows the silvery night light of the planet – caused by the reflection of the huge lights of the facility on the silver colored moon surface - shone into the workers' living quarters. It illuminated the place with soft light. V'Ran had been trying to fall asleep in his bed, when he heard a sound. He moved upwards, feeling the cold material of the _da ek'zura_ that he was wearing under his clothes on his skin. It was Rokel's medallion.

Instead of exchanging it for the materials for the antidote, V'Ran had kept the medallion. It was a family piece, after all, and when Gel had offered another means to trade, he had taken it gladly. Afterwards, when Rokel was fighting his illness, he had studied the family jewelry from the way the different components were welded together to the lines carved in silver and the images of silverbirds on the back. The silver lines were ancient Vulcan writing. It was easy for V'Ran to translate the characters. The medallion had led him to an astonishing discovery about Rokel's background.

V'Ran didn't know what it was about the young Human. Since they'd met in that prison cell, V'Ran had known Rokel was a special person. He had felt a strange need to protect him. The discovery that somebody had tried to block Rokel's bond with his Vulcan wife and finding out which family she belonged to had made him very alert to the danger that awaited Rokel. It was his obligation to warn him.

For now, that was impossible. The Human had returned from the medical facility, but was still unconscious. During his treatment for his infestation with the _rovotkau_ insect Rokel had gotten very ill. It got noticed by the guards, and they transferred him to the facility. They had given him a short treatment. Rokel looked better when he returned, still in a deep sleep.

With Rokel being ill and not able to defend himself, V'Ran kept a close eye on him. He wasn't the only one. The noise that he had heard had come from Mita. The silvery moonlight provided enough light to see that Mita had gotten out of bed. Mita was heading towards the bed in which Rokel rested.

"Mita", V'Ran called to her softly. She stood by the sleeping Human, observing him. Her normally straight posture seemed less rigid. V'Ran stepped out of bed and walked towards her. "You have done well," he whispered. He touched her lightly with two fingers on one shoulder, realizing how much he respected her. He acted without thinking, the gesture seemed to come naturally, and yet it filled him with shame and confusion afterwards.

Mita most have picked up the warmth in his voice, because in the moonlight he saw the tips of her ears turn light green. The fact that she was blushing filled him with a silly pride. He suppressed it quickly. He was a middle aged man of 120 years old, not some love-sick 60-year old.

But the feelings he was having when it came to Mita simply were overwhelming. V'Ran realized those feelings had been under the surface for some time. What had happened to them on Hetaria had only amplified it. The memory of his fever time was blurred; it was like looking through a haze. However, during meditation pieces of those moments returned to him: the burning of the fever, the smell of Mita, her soft skin under his hands, her hot body against his, the powerful images of her mind, revealing her true self, united with his mind. But the memories were always followed by what he had felt after the fever had been quenched: shame, guilt, and confusion.

In spite of their complex and difficult past and the emotions that went with it, V'Ran knew without a doubt that he had formed a strong bond with Mita based on mutual affection. The first signs had been two years ago, but it hadn't been a full bond as it was now. This all gave him food for thought regarding what had happened to that other bond, and to his wife T'Prel, at home on Vulcan. He hadn't seen T'Prel in 50 years, but the bond had been there. At least it had been up to five years ago. Had she died? Had their bond withered away? Not only the shame of what happened on Hetaria plagued him during meditation, but he was also trying to find the logic in losing the bond with T'Prel and bonding with Mita.

"It looks like Rokel is recovering," Mita's soft voice interrupted his thoughts. V'Ran took a closer look at the Human. His face was reddish, his moist hair in that strange blond color pasted on his forehead. However, his breathing wasn't erratic anymore. Instead he breathed calmly. Mita placed her hand on Rokel's forehead. He stirred in his sleep. "His fever has gone down," Mita stated.

"That's good news," he said, knowing Mita had been concerned about Rokel's condition. "We must return to our beds. The guards could be here any minute."

Mita nodded. As they stepped back to their beds, he noticed Mita squeezed her eyes twice. When she sat on her bed, ready to slip under the blanket, she waited a second. Her hands went up to her face and she started to massage her temples. As she took her place under the blanket, she looked pale and drained.

At the risk of being caught by the guards, he seated himself on the bed. "Headache?" he suggested.

"Yes," she answered. "The child… he is giving me headaches."

V'Ran knew that in the early months of pregnancy the bonding of the baby to his mother caused headaches. But Mita had been pregnant for four months, two weeks and three days. She had explained to him that children also needed to bond with their fathers and had encouraged him to touch her belly in order to connect with the child. He had been very reluctant to do so.

Now he felt rather selfish. No matter his struggles, the child needed him. "The baby needs his father," he answered Mita.

"Yes," she said. There was no condemnation in her voice nor– what he feared the most – were her eyes cold with judgment. She accepted him. It was one of the reasons he loved her.

Without thinking, he simply acted, and laid his hand on her belly. He closed his eyes in meditation and concentrated on the child. It took him a few seconds, and there he felt it: the presence of the baby, touching his _katra_. In his mind images flashed by: a child, floating in the water of his mother's womb. It had perfectly pointed ears. The baby was small and slimly built, but very active, moving his legs up and down. The child turned his head slightly and V'Ran saw two eyes; they were Mita's eyes. He was beautiful. V'Ran was touched in his deepest _katra_. Joy, amazement, pride and a deep desire to protect the child welled up in him. Then he felt a soft movement under his hand, like a small heel under his hand. He pulled his hand back quickly.

"He kicked," Mita said.

He avoided looking at her. If he had, he would have had even more trouble containing his emotions. This brief connection with his child, it was the most beautiful gift Mita could have given him. He felt Mita's soft hand on his; he moved his hand under hers and held it. He closed his eyes and they sat there for several seconds, holding hands as he placed all of his spinning emotions under the law of logic and calmed down. He needed to. Order was of utmost importance.

V'Ran opened his eyes .He looked around in the workers' living quarters, seeing the rows of beds. Under every gray blanket was a prisoner, most of them with a history of violence. "This is no place for a child to grow up," he said to Mita.

"He has us, V'Ran," Mita said merely. "Now go to bed. You need your sleep. Tomorrow is going be a long day again."

* * *

**Part three**

**Present time – 2161 – Farel Moon – a few hours later**.

_Silver. _At 3 am V'Ran woke up at his usual time for meditation. As he seated himself cross legged on the bed he saw someone sitting at the edge of the bed across from him. It was Rokel. His shoulders were slumped. When he looked up, the ordeal of the past days was written on this face. However, his reddish color had disappeared, and the look in his eyes was clear and alert. As he greeted V'Ran with a broad smile V'Ran was struck by the joy that sparkled in his alien blue eyes. The silvery writings on the back of the _da ek'zura _had described Rokel as the "blue eyed male", and V'Ran realized how fitting that description was.

But it wasn't his habit to greet others in the same enthusiastic fashion, no matter how glad he was that Rokel had recovered. So he nodded to Rokel and continued with his meditation.

As the alarm sounded at 4 am and all the workers got up and reported in, so did Rokel. He was welcomed by Gel and Skrov, Gel (in his usual Tellerite way) telling Rokel that it was about time that he'd finally gotten his lazy body out of bed, Skrov with a short slap on his shoulder. Both men seemed glad to see him well again. V'Ran observed two other workers greeting Rokel as well. He was amazed at Rokel's talent for endearing himself to people of all kinds, even hardened prisoners and slaves.

Rokel's recovery also didn't get unnoticed by the guards. They had the rule that anyone who could stand also could work, so after their quick breakfast all the workers, including Rokel, gathered for their transport to the mines.

In the mines V'Ran was assigned to work with Rokel in one of the tunnels. Before they started working he warned Rokel that he should take it slowly. "Don't worry, I'm fine," Rokel replied. In the next hours V'Ran noticed Rokel was wise enough not to rush himself, but worked diligently and at a steady pace.

Working alone with Rokel proved a good opportunity for him to asked Rokel about the medallion and his family history. "You're Captain Kirak's son in law," he started.

Rokel gave him a puzzled look. "What do you mean?"

"Before you were treated for the _rovotkau_ you told me that you're married to a Vulcan woman," he answered. "We talked about the _Kah-ka_ – the bond."

V'Ran hesitated. Bonds could be felt over great distances. If they were not, they must be blocked or in the worst case, severed. Rokel's situation would be proof of that. "Did you restore the bond with your wife?" V'Ran asked. He realized it was a very personal question.

A flash of pure joy crossed over Rokel's face. "Yes," he confirmed. "I spoke to her." Happiness was clear in his voice. Then he frowned. "But what has this to do with my father in law? He's been gone for ages."

V'Ran's hand went under his shirt; he took the medallion out. "I kept it for you," V'Ran said.

Rokel recognized the jewelry at once. "I thought you sold it for the antidote," he stammered.

"I found something else to trade for," he answered. "Or rather, Gel did. Never underestimate the resourcefulness of a dilithium smuggler."

Rokel laughed, but his demeanor soon turned serious as V'Ran placed the medallion in the palm of his hand and showed it to Rokel. The silvery writings were plain. With one finger he went over the symbols as V'Ran started to explain them. "These are characters of birds carved out in silver. The silver birds are the symbol of the clan of Tilekheyakuli. They have ruled over an area famous for two spear-shaped mountains. The two straight up arrows next to the birds refer to that."

"I remember those mountains from the time I visited T'Pol's home," Rokel remarked. Rokel's voice was neutral, but V'Ran detected a reserve that indicated the visit hadn't been all pleasant. V"Ran could imagine Kirak's family not being all too pleased to have a Human in the family.

V'Ran continued with his explanation. "This symbol stands for strength, or _kirak_ in Vulcan," he pointed at the symbol in the middle. "The symbols above him are his forefather and foremother, the small line between them means they were married. Kirak is of course married to this person, symbolized with short strokes like rain and a double line. Its means solid, from the word _lesau_, and indicates his wife, T'Les."

Rokel grinned. "You forget my favorite," he said, running with his finger over the characters of his wife's name. 'The line under a circle means the sun shining on the desert together with the flower, and symbolizes the desert flower, Polau. I love the idea that T'Pol's name means desert flower. And those are the characters of blue, eyes and male. That's me. My official Earth name means male."

V'Ran pointed to the last three symbols. "Those three flowers under you and T'Pol seemed to indicate… children."

Rokel sighed. "Lorian, he is far away. Elizabeth… we lost her six years ago. And that small one…T'Pol had a miscarriage."

V'Ran understood his sorrow. His son Kel had died at age 5 in a shuttle accident. It had been 55 years ago, but he remembered his son if it had been yesterday. "I grieve with you," he responded.

"Thank you," Rokel replied.

V'Ran changed the subject and gave the medallion back to Rokel. "It's yours. You would be wise to keep it always out of sight. You don't want the guards or anyone else to see it or to get their hands on it."

Rokel nodded, quickly got the necklace on, and hid it under his shirt. As he was busy doing that, V'Ran said, "Your marriage to T'Pol must be well known and well documented. She is from an important Vulcan clan and you're a Human. Maybe it has changed in my absence, but I assume there wouldn't be many Vulcan-Human couples in the universe."

Rokel gave him a painful smile. "There are a few. But not a lot of people on Earth and Vulcan know that T'Pol is my wife."

"I don't understand," he responded, confused.

"It's a long and complex story," Rokel answered, in such a matter that V'Ran didn't want to ask any further. Still he found it necessary to warn Rokel. "The enemies of Kirak must know of your marriage to T'Pol," he argued. "Why else would they plant a _rovotkau_ insect in your brain? It must have been for no other reason than to block your bond with T'Pol."

"Yes, they wanted to block my bond with T'Pol, so they must know about our marriage. They also must have knowledge about the bond and how to block it," Rokel agreed. "But why would the enemies of my father-in-law care about T'Pol and me? He's long gone; T'Pol lost her father about 40 years ago."

V'Ran nodded. "That's correct; Captain Kirak became a Romulan slave four decades ago."

Rokel looked at him, unbelief written on his face. "You know him? He didn't die 40 years ago? He is alive?"

"Kirak was very much alive when I met him the last time. That was 10 years ago," he told Rokel. "And I must warn you: your connection to him puts you in danger, Rokel. I think it's the reason why you're imprisoned."

"Why should my relationship with T'Pol's father put me in danger?" Rokel asked. His questions were not without logic. "You told me he was a slave. Even when he was alive he could hardly pose a threat to the Romulans."

He had to correct Rokel's assumption. "_Skil-tor ahkh svi'kashkau t'ausutra_," he quoted in Vulcan. "Do you know what that means?"

Rokel's face had turned pale when he heard the Vulcan words. "I have heard that expression before", he said, "From a dying man who was investigating a Romulan spy. It means "The war is won in the minds of the people."

"Ideas can be powerful, Rokel," V'Ran told him. "Captain Kirak is indeed a slave, but his ideas are followed by a small group of people. It has made him a wanted man and a feared enemy of the Romulan Empire. You should be very careful."

* * *

**Part four**

**2161 – Present – San Francisco, Earth**

**Starfleet Headquarters **

_Silver. _As Jon walked into his office his eyes fell on a silvery colored magazine lying on his desk next to row of PADDs. He picked it and saw it was the newest edition of the _Science Monitor_. He knew the magazine; it was one of the leading scientific magazines, with a paper edition read by around a million people and a digital version with over 10 million readers. To his surprise there was a note attached to the magazine. On the note in elegant and precise handwriting, the words "_Please read this"_ were written.

He had seen this writing before. It could have come from no one other than his former XO, T'Pol.

He hadn't spoken to or seen T'Pol since she'd gone off the radar. This was her first attempt to communicate with him. All kind of questions went through his mind, from how she had managed to come into his office unseen and place this magazine on his desk to why she wanted him to read this magazine.

Jon quickly took a seat and began to turn the pages. There were a couple of very interesting articles about the newest space ship armory technology and some new medical achievements, but the article that got his attention was a story about Trip. Without a doubt that had to be the article T'Pol wanted him to read.

Soon he found himself engrossed by the story about Trip's scientific achievements. He was pleased that someone had finally taken in interest in that side of Trip, instead of the nonsense stories he had read elsewhere. Trip had been a great Starfleet officer, his best friend, and a rock during the war. His improvements during the war had helped Starfleet win the war. Trip deserved some credit for that, and it seemed like the journalist, a certain Henry Dubois, seem to have recognized that. It was a well written piece and he enjoyed reading it.

At the end of the story, he was surprised to find an interview with T'Pol. Jon swallowed. The picture next to the text spoke more than a thousand words. T'Pol was grieving over Trip. _Why hadn't he seen it the last time they spoke?_

He knew the answer: because he felt guilty over Trip's death. He shouldn't be. It had been his job as Starfleet captain to assign Trip to the mission. Trip had accepted it, including the risk he was taking. Jon had been aware it would be a difficult mission, but he had never thought it would lead to Trip's death.

Jon continued reading, but not for long. In a sub-sentence the writer expressed his surprise that not only had Starfleet hardly given credit to Trip for his achievements after his death, but also that Jon, a close friend of Trip, had shown so little emotion about his death.

The words hit Jon like a brick. "He couldn't be more wrong," he muttered beneath his breath. He pushed his chair away, got up, and started to pace.

He got mad at T'Pol. _Why had she wanted him to read this article_? _Did she really think he didn't care about Trip's death? _He'd had a hard time understanding T'Pol the last few weeks. She had acted so strangely after he had told the crew that Trip had died in an incident. Trip and T'Pol seemed to have their own special way of communicating and he had no doubt that Trip had told her about the mission. Yet, after his death she'd acted like she had no clue what happened. He was tempted to tell her, but his strict orders not to share the mission with anyone had stopped him. Instead, he had tried to reach out to her and give her some comfort.

She had been so unresponsive. He remembered that just before he had made that speech about the Coalition charter he had spoken to her. At the end of their talk– seeing her loneliness behind that Vulcan facade – he'd given her a friendly hug. She had stiffened under his embrace. She didn't want his friendship. He never would understand her.

Maybe it would have been much better if he just had told her the truth: that Trip was sent on an important secret mission, and that he hadn't been in contact with Trip, not until Starfleet Intelligence reported that they had found Trip's vessel.

Or what was left of it.

The first images Jon had gotten from the site were of Trip's vessel, blown into pieces. In the debris they had found parts of the warp core, exploded from inside out. A small scientific team had examined the site and gathered the debris. They had found Trip's DNA on almost every piece. According to the team leader Trip had been very close to the warp core when it exploded. No man could have survived. The mission had been a complete failure.

Trip had gone on the mission because he wanted to clear T'Pol's name. Would he have known that for Jon the mission was also of utmost importance? It had been the only means to get his father Henry Archer absolved.

His father… Jon's head started to pound again, the familiar beginning of his headaches. He rummaged in his drawer and took out some pills. Then he walked to his closet to find a bottle of bourbon. He got some water, swallowed the pills, and washed the awful taste away with some bourbon.

He felt much better now.

He tried very much not to think about the moment his headaches and his nightmare had begun. But his thoughts were hard to stop.

_It all started with the war. Or more precisely after the war, when everybody he knew tried to cope with the war and the new life that lay ahead for them. He should have been happy; Starfleet had won a bloody war and saved Earth from Romulan rule. But he wasn't._

_As a captain he couldn't let his mood interfere with his job. No one noticed that anything was different with him. _

_However, alone in his cabin, with only Porthos as his company, he only wanted to lie on his bunk and stare at the ceiling. _

_He thought of Erika, who he had lost in the first year of the war. She had been his friend and lover, but also a great listener. She had been the only person he could open up to. After she was gone, it seemed like there was no one he could turn to. _

_No even Trip. After a couple of rough patches in their relationship, they had become good friends again. But the confusion and pain he felt after Erika's death – he kept them inside. _

_Deep inside he wanted to leave his life as a captain, as the only thing that kept him going was his sense of duty to Starfleet and his crew. But his father had taught him to finish what you started, so he stayed at his post. _

_It was on one of those nights in his cabin that Admiral Black paid him a visit. Enterprise was traveling back from Andoria to Earth. Admiral Black, who had paid a visit to the Imperial government, traveled with them. He and Black had spoken shortly before, so he was surprised that Black appeared on his doorstep. _

_After he invited him in, Black closed the door and took a seat. "Have you forgotten something, Admiral?" Jon asked. _

_Black looked uncomfortable. "I'm here because I'm an old friend of your father I feel it's my responsibility to share this information first with you…" He paused and looked at his hands. "Before I let Starfleet Intelligence investigate some data that has been sent to my communications officer."_

"_What data are you talking about, Admiral?" Jon asked, suppressing his rising feeling of unrest._

"_Do you know the planet Tikari, captain? It's in the Dosa system. It used to be a Romulan ruled planet, but they abandoned the planet during the war. In their old offices most data were erased or destroyed, but we did find several interesting documents that will help us understand the Romulans better," Black said. He paused. "We also discovered one data file containing information about your father."_

_Jon shrugged, not impressed by this news. "I'm sure the Romulans have data on everyone who worked on the warp project. They probably have files on every one in Starfleet."_

_Black shook his head. "That's true, no doubt, but this is different. The data showed that one and a half year before his death, your father was contacted by an alien. That person worked for the Romulans and offered your father information about new technology that would benefit his warp project. In exchange your father had to give all kind of information about Earth," Black took out a PADD and gave it to him. "It's all here. I had it checked and checked over again, but it seems the real thing. What makes it worse, your father did make a significant breakthrough in his research almost right after the time when this would have taken place." _

"_My father would never do that, Admiral," Jon said firmly. "He would have worked himself to death before betraying Earth like this. His passion was the warp project, and he wanted it to succeed, but not with the help of some unknown aliens." While he spoke, doubt crept into his mind. Jon didn't show it, but he couldn't help thinking about his father's hostility against Vulcans and the madness that sometimes had plagued him during that horrible last year that he lived. _

_Jon returned the PADD to Black. When he spoke to Black he was also trying to convince himself. "They're all lies. Lies, Admiral." His father wasn't a traitor. He had been a man with strong convictions and a great moral code, a rock, a genius of his time, and a wonderful father. _

"_I agree with you, Captain and we will keep this a secret until we have proven that these documents have be falsified," Black assured him. "It won't be easy, but I have everyone on my team working around the clock to get this past us as soon as possible. We can't have a scandal now about your father. Not with you as Starfleet's first candidate for president of the Coalition."_

_Jon had been asked to present himself for the position of president; after long consideration he had told Starfleet he was ready. Daniels had told him he would be an important man in the history of Earth and those words had made a great impact on him. But Jon was perfectly aware that part of his career was based on the fact that he was Henry Archer's son. Having a scandal about his father wouldn't just ruin his legacy and image people had of him, but would also hurt Jon's good name._

_Black put the PADD back in his pocket and held out a hand. "You have my word, Jon; I will do everything to clear your father's name."_

_Jon took the hand and shook it. "Thanks, Admiral. I can't tell how much I appreciate you helping me."_

At first Jon had been grateful for Black's help, certainly after he had studied the data himself and realized how damaging it would be if the information got out. But later he felt trapped by the situation, held back by Admiral Black. It was almost as if Black was pulling the strings; Jon hated that feeling.

As if his father's name being smeared wasn't enough, the next thing that he was confronted with was another discovery from the Tikari data concerning T'Pol. The first moments after he had heard the news he had been taken aback at the word that T'Pol might have sold technological data to the Romulans in exchange for information about the whereabouts of her father, who had disappeared years ago. Jon and T'Pol weren't close anymore, but he didn't believe she would ever do such a thing. On top of that, the story came from the same data source that had incriminated his father. The stories were so similar that he had no doubt someone had tampered with the information files on Tikari.

Trip was send to the planet to investigate the data. Jon had great hopes that not only would Trip find evidence that the accusations against T'Pol were false, but also that he would find information that would clear his father's name.

But the mission went completely wrong, leaving Trip dead and T'Pol estranged from him, sending him a magazine with the clear message she didn't want anything to do with him anymore.

Anger filled him. The whole situation was such a mess. Enraged, he grabbed the magazine, ready to tear out the pages with the interview or T'Pol. Then he saw in the corner of his eye that T'Pol had placed a marker on one of the pages. His fury flooded away. He opened the magazine at the marked page. It was an article about warp technology, an article about his father, also written by this Henry Dubois.

Eagerly, he started to read. It was a wonderful story, full of details about his father's earlier career, his first setbacks and breakthroughs. On the fifth page of the article several pictures were to be seen of the pioneer of warp technology: Zephram Cochran, one of his father, and a picture of his father's first team. His eyes went over the caption of that last picture: Henry Archer, Sima Qian, John Singh, Charles Levi, Hensenius ("Hank")Black, and Aimeka Sato.

He stopped reading. Hensenius Black. There weren't many people with the same unique first name as Admiral Black. Jon studied the face on the picture. It was him: Admiral Black in his younger years. He had seen that face before, many years ago when his father was still alive.

He closed his eyes and concentrated. A memory of his childhood days came to his mind. He saw himself, 12 years old, sitting in that waiting room, his eyes fixed on his father's hospital door. A couple came out the door. They were Hank Black and Ellen Tenson. Hank had his arm around her.

He opened his eyes again. Ellen Tenson wasn't just anyone. She had become an assistant to former President Samuels, a Senator and Starfleet Liaison for Vulcan affairs , and had been unmasked as Romulan spy, leaving a trail of destruction behind her

It daunted him. Black had been more than friends with her in the past. That was odd, considering the fact that Black had led the investigation after Tenson had been unmasked and managed to escape.

All of a sudden he looked differently at Black. Jon had trusted him completely. But all those accusations, all that evidence against his father and T'Pol came from Black's people. It was strong evidence, almost impossible to contradict. But what if Black had a hand in all this? What if Tenson hadn't been alone, what if she had a helper in the person of Black – and he was still active, destroying everything in his path so the Romulans could benefit?

His head was spinning and his headache returned in full force. Jon decided to take a nap in his office and then to return home. He lay down on the small couch in his office and dozed off.

He was awakened by the soft buzz of his comm system. Still drowsy, he turned it on. A distorted black and white image came into view. Still, he recognized the person at once: T'Pol.

"Captain," T'Pol's clear voice said.

"Why are you contacting me, T'Pol?" Jon interrupted her. "You should turn yourself in and let Starfleet investigate those accusations against you. We all know they're false."

"I contacted you because we need to talk, Captain."

He threw his hands in the air. "The time to talk is over, T'Pol." He took the _Science Monitor_ with his silvery cover from his desk and waved it in front of the screen. "Why did you send me this magazine? What do you want from me?"

He saw T'Pol blink when he held up the magazine. "I don't know about a magazine, Captain," she retorted. "And I didn't think there was a time limit on our friendship."

Her words about their friendship meant more to him than he had expected, and he became calmer. "So what do you want," he asked again.

"I want to talk to you, Captain. According to Starfleet records, Commander Charles Tucker the Third died two weeks ago, but the records are incorrect," she said in a neutral voice. Before he could say anything back to her, she looked him straight in the face and said, in an almost Trip-like fashion "And you are going to help me prove it."


End file.
